Down In A Hole
by s'C'urvy 'K'at
Summary: Sure, they saved the world. But in the aftermath, ostracized and wounded, will the remaining members of AVALANCHE still consider their actions to have been the right ones? Is there a chance to pick up the pieces and move on, when nobody knows the truth?
1. Chapter 1

Felt like writing something else. There's always the stories where AVALANCHE saves the world, and everything is immediately okay. No personal repercussions, all they do is go off, party and make babies with each other. And maybe Tifa angst longingly after Cloud. So sure, they saved the world, but maybe everything's not going to be 'okay'. And away we go, with Yuffie at the helm. Yay Yuffie.

It's all property of Square-Enix. You know the drill.

* * *

It hurt.

Everything hurt.

She was all too aware of that. But even more, she was aware of the hands on her neck, checking fumblingly, unprofessionally for a pulse.

Just what had happened? The last thing she remembered was Tifa running into the cargo hold, her face white, cramped up in anxiety, gripping onto the doorframe as her feet began to skid out from under her uselessly, screaming that they had to hold on to something, that they were about to-

Her whole world had tilted violently under her then, Tifa's words cut off in a mess of mechanical screeching and bleating, too loud, much too loud, before... before...

Oh God.

"Tifa?" She tried, finding her voice a barely inaudible croak, her mouth and throat thick with grit, the unmistakable biting taste of blood, and... something.

Cool breath gusted against her cheek, and the hands swept upward, pawing sloppily across her cheeks and mouth, something sliding off of her skin, being wiped away.

"I'm here."

She couldn't hear so well, head spinning, ears ringing, but that was definitely Tifa, her voice equally broken and gravelly, sounding resigned; hurt.

She cracked her eyes open, wanting to see what had happened, see what was so _wrong_ that it made Tifa sound so defeated. She was tired, wanted to go back to sleep. But this was important.

It was dark. Still night time, but everything had a sickly green wash to it, allowing her to see just a sliver of the night sky through the twisted mess of metal and shattered glass.

Tifa shifted above her, drawing her gaze. The martial artist's face was a smeared mess of black and red, blood running from a mess of cuts above her left eye, creating a stripe that ran across her cheek, down her neck before disappearing into a red splotch on her shirt. There were small crystals in her hair that caught the light, twinkling, reflecting.

...She looked like a monster. All the blood, all the grit, all the glass in her hair...

It had to be bad, whatever happened to them.

She turned her gaze away, head lolling to the left, though Tifa's hand caught her cheek, fingers pressing tightly, trying to turn her head away.

"Don't look over there." She murmured quietly, though she could already make out something, some_body_ over there, black hair pooled out from under the torn hem of a red cloak. His legs were poking out from the other end, pointed brass boots glinting in the light, one leg twisted at an obscenely _wrong_ angle, and- "Don't look over there."

"Vincent?" She croaked, knowing she wouldn't get an answer. The way his cloak had been removed, laid over him, it was obvious. He was already gone.

And the way it looked, the way his _leg_ looked, it had to be bad.

And... Jesus. He was _gone_ just like that. She had never really talked to him that much, normally getting the cold shoulder if she tried. Figured that maybe he'd lighten up once everything was over, and they'd all have a chance to calm down; chat once they were no longer being hunted down like dogs. But there he was, dead, hastily covered up in a makeshift funeral shroud, not even ten feet from them.

Vincent had mostly kept to himself. He had that melancholy brooding thing down to a science and all, but still. He had to have had hopes, dreams, likes, dislikes, all that stuff. What kind of music did he like? What kind of movies? Food? Had he ever idly wondered what made Cloud think his hairstyle was so cool, like she had always done? She didn't know. And now, she'd never know.

But God _damn_ if she didn't want to.

All these questions now, but... but...

Tifa.

Tifa was here, Tifa was _alive_.

She could focus on the other woman. Needed to focus on her, otherwise she'd probably go crazy, wondering about Vincent like that.

"I couldn't do anything for him." She sighed, and Yuffie turned her head back towards her voice, staring up at her hunched form, reclining stiffly against a piece of the hull that had torn off and was jutting out of the wreckage. "He was already gone when I found him. I was... I was scared that you were gone too. You've been out for _hours_ and I was worried." She stopped herself from going on, holding her tongue.

The way the word 'hours' slipped from her mouth, she must have just been sitting there the whole time, wondering, waiting, waiting for her to wake up, so that she wouldn't be stuck alone in the wreckage with two dead teammates.

Two dead friends.

"Hours?" She asked, and Tifa nodded, running the knuckle of her thumb beneath her eyes quickly, staring straight ahead, eyes guarded. "What about-"

"I don't know." She replied immediately, shaking her head. "I was yelling for a while, see if anybody would answer. Cid's... somewhere on the other side of all this scrap, trying to rig up what's left of Cait Sith, see if he can get it running again, give Reeve a track on where we are. Barret's over there too, but he's hurt, delirious. I could hear him calling for Marlene about an hour or so ago. No idea where Cloud and Nanaki are."

"Can we get over to Cid?" She almost didn't have to ask. The look on Tifa's face said it all.

"There's too much in the way. I'm in no shape for any climbing, neither are you. We just need to wait, hope Cid can make some headway."

What did that mean, 'neither are you'? She looked away from Tifa's shape, looked down the length of her own body. Her legs disappeared beneath the huge wall of debris, the bottom edge red with blood.

Her stomach rolled, and she reflexively pulled, not feeling any give to it.

"My legs!" She immediately squalled, jerking frantically, trying to drag herself out from under it, make sure they were still _attached_. "Oh my God, no. No no no no no. Oh G-"

She pressed the heel of her hand to her mouth, biting down on the leather of her glove attempting to stifle her cries. She couldn't feel them. They were gone. They had to be. They were probably sheared off and in the dirt some three miles from here, and-

Tifa moved slowly, turning and flattening out, her right arm snaking just below the metal, next to her right leg. There was an uncomfortable tickle, then a brief pinch, and the sudden burst of pain seemed to intensify the throbbing feeling through her whole body.

"Feel that?" Tifa asked, sliding her hand back out and resuming her hunched seat, hand resting on her hip, patting her in an idle attempt at comfort. "They're still there. Bone's sticking out of the left one, but they're still there. I can't pull you out myself. We just need to wait, hope somebody finds us."

"You checked?" Yuffie asked, swallowing hard, trying to calm herself down.

"Yeah. Yeah, I did. Soon as I saw Vincent, I went to you. I couldn't move you, so I wedged my hand under there to check, see how bad it was. You're just pinned. Just try to relax, okay?"

Relax? She was pinned in a bunch of rubble, and Vincent was dead, and they were trapped, and Tifa wanted her to _relax_?

"Easy for you to say." She muttered, letting her head fall back with a dull thump.

"Sorry." Tifa muttered, shaking her head again, as if trying to apologize for the whole situation, even though she wasn't responsible for any of it. "We can't do anything, I can't do anything. I'd get you out of there if I were strong enough. I'd go get help, go see-"

Go?

She seized Tifa's hand that was on her hip, gripping it fiercely, with a sudden burst of strength she didn't realize she still had in her battered body.

"Don't go. I don't- I don't want you leave me alone in here. Please. I'm sorry, just don't go anywhere."

Tifa's lips twisted wryly and she sighed, nodding, the glass twinkling in her hair again, like diamonds.

"No, no. 'M not going anywhere. I'm going to stay right here with you until help comes. I'll sit right here, no matter how long it takes, okay? I promise."

"How bad are you hurt?"

There was a long, quiet hiss of air before Tifa answered, shrugging.

"...Not so bad." She replied lowly.

Somewhere on the other side of all the wreckage, they heard Barret, voice booming in a powerful, mournful cry for Marlene, before it was silent again. Tifa shuddered, her fingers gripping tightly against Yuffie's; too tight for comfort. But she didn't say anything. Tifa was just as scared as she was, maybe even moreso. Her best friend was there, suffering, maybe not even twenty feet away. But it may as well have been miles.

Maybe if they talked, maybe if they found some way to pass the time, they'd both calm down a little. And now that they had this chance, they could get to know each other a little. She couldn't have that chance with Vincent now, maybe didn't have that chance with any of them now, but she had Tifa with her, and right now, that was all that mattered.

Right now, each other was all they had.

"How long have you known Barret for?" She tried slowly, not sure if, after hearing him shouting like that, it was the best question to open with, but still. It was obvious that those two had a special bond, something none of the others had. She knew they had been a team long before any of the rest of them were caught up in this mess, but didn't know any specifics.

"Three years. Met him in Midgar, when Marlene was just a baby. He had found her when Corel burned, they wandered until they came to Midgar. The Slums were a good place to hide; good place to disappear. I'd been down there for two years then. We were both hurt, bitter. Shinra was killing the Planet, killing people with their Mako Reactors. We figured, if you stop the Reactors, you stop converting Lifestream into Mako, and therefore, stop killing the Planet. We were idealists then. Save the Planet, and get back at Shinra at the same time.

"That's really all we wanted. Casualties in our fight would just be like... like flies on a windshield or something. We were going to _save_ the Planet, and they worked for the bad guys. Like I said, idealists. We were the good guys, right? Heh. Like it would be that easy. Shinra retaliated. They dropped out the Plate. Our friends died. So many people died. And I started to think. Finally think. Maybe we weren't the good guys. Maybe nobody's the good guys. We wanted to save the Planet, but at the same time, we all had our own selfish vendettas..."

She trailed off, deep in thought.

"I thought you guys were doing the right thing." She tried, wanting to turn Tifa's thoughts away from such a morbid track. "I mean, at first I just wanted to play along for a while, then rob you idiots blind at the first chance I got. But after I did, y'know, after that thing in Wutai, when you rescued me, a-and forgave me, you guys were obviously after a way bigger picture, y'know? I was just a little gnat, looking out for my own butt, wanting to make Wutai great again. There were bigger things. Way bigger. Like when they wanted to execute you and Barret, I had to help get you guys out of there. Because we were a team now, and- and I didn't want anything to happen to you. Hell when you dove for that rope, I nearly lost my lunch I was so scared.

"I know I was a jerk from day one, but I started liking you guys, liked what you stood for. Sure, I probably didn't show it, but I thought it was cool, saving the world and all. Like something out of a book, like Lord of The Rings or something."

Tifa looked down at her, a little bit of surprise evident in her eyes.

"You liked Lord of The Rings?"

Yes! Good, healthy, _normal_ turn to the conversation. Books? She could talk about them all day. No more grousing about death and destruction. No more talking like they were trying to clear their consciences while they still had the chance.

"Yeah. You read them?"

"When I was little younger than you, yeah. My dad used to read me The Hobbit at bedtime. When I got a little older, I started reading through them. Never had the chance to finished Return of the King though. Ha. Barret used to make me think of Gimli, he'd been a miner, back in Corel. Gruff like him too."

"Then that'd make you, like Legolas or something, wouldn't it? I mean, you're graceful, pretty, long hair, like Barret's total opposite. _And_ you're best friends, like they were in the book."

Tifa snorted lightly, lips twisting a little.

"Just about hunting Orcs too. And would that make you Pippin or something?"

"Sure, make me the 'fool of a Took'." She shot back smiling wanly up at her. It was then that she noticed the strap of red cloth wound tightly around her midsection, blackish splotch near where it had been tied off. "How bad is it?"

"What, being Pippin? I wouldn't say-"

"No. Your side. Is it bad?" She suddenly felt very selfish. All her sniveling, and there Tifa was, suffering silently with her own injuries.

"I've patched it up. I'm alright for now, but I'll need a real doctor to take care of it once help gets here." She patted at her bandage self-consciously with her free hand, brushing her fingertips off on her pants right afterward. "Besides, Legolas was immortal, right?"

Yuffie nodded, mollified for the moment. Tifa wasn't going anywhere. Long as they kept talking, everything would be fine.

"Right. You know, I heard they're planning to make a movie about it."

"They've been talking about that for years. I'm not much for epics though. I was always more of a fan of the animated ones out of Wutai. Palace of the Sea God... I can never remember what the real title was. You know which one I'm talking about?"

"Yeah, the one where the little girl meets Leviathan? That was my favorite one. After I first saw it, I used to spend hours every day running up and down the coast hoping I'd get to meet him too. Pretty silly, huh?"

"No, not at all. When I was little, I was convinced I'd be able to find flower fairies and spirits up in the Nibel Mountains. I can't remember the name of the movie for the life of me, but it was the one where the spirits of dead people crossed over the mountain, and it had that meadow full of flower fairies in all those colors. I wanted so bad to find a yellow one. When I was done with my training, I'd wander around the mountains trying to find every yellow flower I could, just to see if I could get a fairy to come out and talk to me. The mountains looked so pretty then-" She paused as Yuffie stifled a yawn, looking up at her sheepishly to continue "There were flowers and birds everywhere before Shinra came in and established a Mako Reactor. That sucked all the life out of the mountain. The flowers shriveled up, the birds flew away, and everything was so ugly and dead. But before that, it was beautiful. Especially in the spring and summer..."

It was soothing to hear Tifa talk about that; almost therapeutic, really. Funny. They liked the same movies, the same books, and though they'd been comrades for almost a year, she'd never known. Maybe if they had known earlier, they would have been better friends in the course of things.

But now that could change. Once they got out of this, they had time. Time to get better, time to talk, time to become real friends.

Tifa's voice was soothing, calming; a balm to keep her frantic thoughts at bay. They'd get out, and then, once they were all recovered, they could get onto their new lives. Good lives.

A fresh start, despite how ugly this had ended.

Yeah, that sounded like just what they needed, she though dimly to herself, as she let her eyes slide shut, Tifa's low, soft voice pushing her exhausted body toward the realm of sleep. She didn't want to go to sleep, leave Tifa with her own thoughts for so long, but she was exhausted; her body, mind, everything. And they could talk more when she woke up, and who knew, maybe Tifa was just as tired as she was.

Yeah, a little sleep, and everything would be better.

Yeah...

It hurt.

All over again, the pain started, sluggishly pulling her back into consciousness.

"Got a live one over here!"

Her eyes snapped open, and she found herself staring up at that blonde from the Turks, who looked as surprised as she currently felt. What the Hell were the Turks doing here? Where was-

Her right hand scrabbled at air for a moment, not finding the other woman's hand.

Where was Tifa?

The redhead Turk came over, giving her a cursory once over, before he lifted her up, the debris having been moved off of her legs at some point.

She glanced down at her legs, seeing them still in-tact as Tifa had said, though they were obviously broken, bone sticking out through the skin on her left shin. But that didn't bother her.

What bothered her was that Tifa wasn't there.

Where had she gone? Maybe she had been moved away, maybe the rescue team had found them, and moved her first.

"Tifa?" She asked, glancing up at the Turks, who exchanged a glance before looking back down at her, grim.

Wait. What was _that_ supposed to mean?

"Tifa, s-she's okay, right? I want to see her!" She demanded frantically, grabbing onto Reno's shoulders, trying to pull herself up and get a better vantage point on their surroundings. She looked around, trying to glance over his shoulder at where they had been sitting the night before.

"Don't look over there." Reno muttered tiredly, shaking his head. But she paid him no mind, still twisting in his grip, eyes searching for any sign of her.

Tifa was laid out on the ground, Rude kneeling over her, checking her pulse, lips drawn in a grim line, two medics leaning in on either side of him, a stretcher behind them. He nodded once, and his hands went to the makeshift bandage, fumbling to undo the knot.

The red cloth fell away and almost immediately, she saw the sickly gray curl of intestines surge forward from the wound, spilling free now that there was nothing forcing them back in place.

The sight made her scream, twisting even more against Reno's grip, reaching around him with one arm, uselessly reaching towards Tifa, breath catching in her throat at how _bad_ it looked.

They all loaded her onto the stretcher, the medics quickly wheeling her past them shouting to each other as they neared one of the helicopters that had set down, come to rescue them at some point.

"Tifa! Tifa, no! I'm sorry I fell asleep! I'm sorry!" She shrieked, squirming to try and get Reno to let her go. She wanted to get over there, make sure she was okay. Didn't matter her legs were currently smashed and useless. She _had_ to get over there and make sure Tifa was okay. "Please, wake up! You gotta wake up! Tifa..." She dissolved into sobs, face curling in against Reno's shoulder.

She should have noticed something. Should have noticed that Tifa was worse hurt than she let on. She should have stayed awake with her, should have kept talking.

She shouldn't have left Tifa alone.

If she... if she _died_...

She was deposited on a stretcher and moved toward the group of helicopters as well, near two covered stretchers. She knew that the one was obviously Vincent, but the other...

"Cloud." Reno muttered dryly from his spot at the head of her stretcher, answering her unasked question. "Guess he finally made it back to that flower girl of his."

The poignant comment was lost on her though, as Reeve made his way over, face grim. The privilege of finally meeting the man behind Cait Sith was also lost on her, as she was craning her neck, peering past them, trying to see Tifa through the mass of medics swarming around her.

"Yuffie, we're going to get you to a hospital, but the doctors first need to-"

"No!" She screeched, bolting upright as they started moving Tifa's stretcher towards the ones Cloud and Vincent were laid out on "Don't put her over there! Don't put her over _there_! You can't-"

"They're loading her into the helicopter. They need to get her back right away." Reeve explained calmly, hand on her shoulder, and Yuffie watched as they wheeled her right past their fallen teammates, and proceeded to load her up, the rotor already spinning, kicking up a wind as it lifted off, dislodging the sheets from both Cloud and Vincent.

She stared at their bodies, dumbfounded, not watching as the helicopter took off, heading in the direction of the setting sun, everything bathed in a brassy orange, unlike the sickly green from the night before.

Cloud looked relatively... okay. As far as dead bodies went. Save for the gross discoloration around his throat, purple and black with bruises, head turned at an odd angle. Vincent, on the other hand, was a mess. The twisted leg she had seen had been completely taken off below the knee, hanging by only a few strips of muscle. The claw arm was completely gone, twisted wires hanging from the stump. And his stomach was gouged open, some viscera pushing through.

Guts pushing out.

Just like Tifa.

"She's going to be okay, right? I-I mean they're going to get her to the hospital, a-and she'll be fine." She jabbered, half-hysterical, head whipping around to look at Reeve, get some kind of confirmation. Some kind of reassurance.

The look he gave her was anything but reassuring.

"They don't know." He answered truthfully, shaking his head. "She's lost a lot of blood. They'll give her a transfusion on the way, but they don't know if she'll make it."

He reached out again to try and comfort her, but she slapped his hands away, shaking her head, squeaking a little as the tears started again.

They couldn't do this to her. Not now. Not now. They were _friends_ now. Tifa had to make it. That couldn't have been the last time they ever talked to one another. All that time together, and now they were finally getting to know each other. They couldn't take Tifa away _now_.

She didn't react when she felt the cool swab rubbed over her shoulder, didn't even flinch when the needle went in. They were doping her up. But she didn't want to go back to sleep. Not this time. Not after what happened the last time she went to sleep. She didn't want to wake up and find out that Tifa was dead.

They saved the world. They were _heroes_.

This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen to heroes.

This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen.

* * *

Originally, this was going to be a one-shot. It was going to have a little more heart-to-heart dialogue, and was going to end with Yuffie waking up and finding Tifa dead. But I waffled. Wanted some more Yuffie-Tifa interaction, dealing with the idealism thing that Tifa brought up. So, there may be more, I don't know. 


	2. Chapter 2

So, I made chapter two. Originally, this was going to be all Yuffie centered, but once again, I waffled. So, here's a Cid chapter, taking place about the same time as the first chapter. The plot will move along in chapter three. I got a little long-winded in this chappy. Sorry.

* * *

His hands hurt. 

His hands.

Whole world suddenly went to Hell on them, and that was the first thing he noticed. Some of the fingers were broken for sure, burnt, bleeding, he was probably fit to lose part of one or two of them.

...That was no good.

He knew it was bad even before he'd taken his gloves off, caught the end of one finger in his teeth and jerked swiftly. He'd been holding onto the controls, desperately trying to make their descent even a little smoother, praying to his bikini goddess that they wouldn't just up and _explode_. The Highwind had hit the ground, flipping, rolling, skidding, and the last thing he remembered was the damned heavy weight of Cait Sith's robotic body smacking into him from the side, finally knocking him from the controls, though he hadn't wanted to be taken away.

There'd been a crunch, a snap, burst of hot pain as he fell back, seeing the panel sparking. He landed on his back, impact bouncing him up into the air, and then...

Then what?

He'd come to, slumped over what remained of the secondary navigation console, which had been ripped loose from where it had been secured on the deck. He had shifted his arms under him, moving to push himself up, but the pain had sent him spiraling back down, close to just passing right back out. He'd tried to figure out how bad it was. He'd never broken a bone before, so he wasn't sure, but the pain throbbing through his hands, his arms, probably meant they were.

Fuck. Couldn't even light a cigarette like this, let alone...

He glanced up, caustically surveying their prison, his lip curling back in a scowl. Fuckin' fancy _that_. They do their part to save the planet, and this is what it shits back out at them? They were sideways, almost upside down, really, and there was shattered glass and sheared off pieces of siding everywhere. He could probably crawl through part of the windshield; most of the safety glass was cracked to Hell anyway. A few good hits around the edge, and it'd eventually break away. He could climb out and...

And what? They were in the middle of _nowhere_ from the looks of it. Who would know where they were? Hell, where was the rest of the _group_ even? The deck was split in half by debris, blocking off about a ten by fifteen section toward the back. There was no way down to the inside of the ship from where he was, he'd remembered seeing Tifa rush back there, screaming for Yuffie, trying to give the younger girl some warning as everything went wrong.

They'd be stuck back there most likely, unless the landing had thrown them off balance, sent them toppling down into the cargo hold. Had the flooring over the turbines held? Or had that ripped loose too, leaving one of them all mashed up between the gears, blood slashed across the walls, oozing down in a nearly black smear...

Oh Jesus. Where did _that_ come from?

No, no, no. This ship, _his_ ship, was a masterpiece; well built. They were okay. They had to be. Come on, Tifa had pulled a Houdini at her own public execution. Something like _this_ shouldn't be what finally succeeded in killing them off; not when everyone and everything else had failed.

But then again, that kind of thinking was taking a bad turn...

...Especially when Sephiroth had begun to think the same thing.

They were only human after all. Looked like Lady Luck had run off on him; left him for someone younger, more handsome...

He let out a growl of frustration, reaching clumsily for his cigarettes. He needed to calm down, get a second to think things through. It couldn't be as bad as it looked right now...

Right?

He winced, breath catching in his throat as the pain rolled in waves up his arms, hot, dizzying. But he managed to fumble the battered pack out of his jacket pocket, dropping it from his stiff, swollen fingers. The top was open, and they spilled out onto the deck, rolling lazily down the odd incline.

He shot his hand out, palm slapping down a few of them, keeping them there within reach. He brought one to his dry lips and wedged it into the corner of his mouth, exhaling sharply. No way he could use a lighter like this...

He stared down at the end of the cigarette, eyes crossing a little in the dimness, trying to focus. Not too much. Just a little spark, just enough to-

A burst of flame coiled through the air in front of him, causing him to jerk back reflexively, surprised. He sucked in a sharp breath, smoke flowing right to his lungs.

Shit.

He'd just needed a little burst. Just enough to light up, but he'd damn near sparked himself up too. Hard to focus like this though. His hands... his nerves were rattled.

One smoke. One quick smoke, and then he'd get down to business. First things first, he needed to get _someone_ a fix on their location.

Who could he go to though? He'd left his PHS in his room down in the crew's quarters, there was no way he'd be able to get to it from where he was stuck. So that was out. Maybe somebody else had theirs still on them, if they were close enough to hear him, still aliv... no, still _conscious_, if they were still conscious, and it was working, they could make a call to...

Who?

Who could they try to contact that could get them out of this mess? They'd probably need machinery, man power, if the others were trapped somewhere in the rubble, medical attention if they were hurt too, and...

Who the Hell would be able to swing that for them on absolutely _zero_ notice. AVALANCHE didn't exactly have many friends in high places. Hell, aside from Tifa and Barret's associates in the underground, they barely even had friends in low places.

Shera. Maybe he could get a hold of her. She had a ship, she could navigate...

Nah. Stupid, old man. Need to _think_. There was no way to _give_ her coordinates if he didn't even know them himself. Not enough man power. They needed... They needed...

...Cait Sith.

He saw the robot slumped over there, against what was the bow of the main deck, part of a turbine from one of the engines punched through the hulking mess of the mog, foam rubber padding and cables spewing from the wound. How bad was the wreck, if part of an engine was all the way up _here_? It was gruesome, robot or not. Better Cait than him though. Better Cait than someone else.

And the robot was little more than a Shinra puppet. And on the other end of those strings was the head of Urban Development for Shinra. If he could string Cait back up, then maybe Reeve would dance for them.

Wasn't like he didn't owe them anyway...

He shook his head broodingly, some ash falling from the tip of his cigarette onto his pants. It would be hard to see anything with it this dark, the only light coming from the remnant of Lifestream still trickling through the air. There was still coppery red dust filtering through the air, blocking any sun, giving him no idea what time it was.

It would all be moot if the cat half of the robot was smashed to Hell, or gone completely. Since that half was arguably the 'brain', the more sensitive circuitry would be in there. Communication link, tracker so that Shinra would always have a bead on them. Video link, the whole nine yards really.

All he had to do was see if it was up and running, and if it wasn't, find a way to _get_-

"Muh... Marlene?"

He jumped, half turning in a crouch, cigarette nearly falling from his mouth out of surprise at the sudden, loud sound.

No, not sound, _voice_.

Oh. Christ.

That was... That was Barret.

Idiot. _Idiot._ Sitting there worrying over what had happened to the others, and there was Barret, practically right _next_ to him.

He scuttled over to Barret, moving in a crouch, tentative plans for Cait Sith on hold. Kneeling by him, he looked him over for any visible injuries. His gun arm was messed up. He was no expert on the machinery that composed the weapon; Hell only Barret and Tifa even knew how to maintain it, let alone how it operated, but he could tell it was simply messed up. Might lose a few more inches of that arm at the stump, he didn't know. But it didn't look life threatening.

"Marlene? Baby, where-" That name again. Barret sounded desperate, voice shaky and delirious, but the fear was there. Sadness.

Marlene? _Baby_? Just what was going on in Barret's head, who was he...

He flinched a little, the name finally clicking. Barret's daughter. He'd seen a picture of her before, a crumpled, dog-eared, cheap mess, taken in one of those chintzy instant-photo booths. It was a strip of about three photos, parts of the print worn away from constant handling.

Sometimes when they'd set up camp, or when they had down-time aboard the Highwind, he'd seen the big guy just sitting alone, pensive, staring at that strip of cheap-ass photo paper, face unreadable.

He'd been sitting next to Barret one night, not long after he'd joined up with AVALANCHE. He was working in a somewhat companiable silence, striking a whet stone across his spear, sharpening the blade, when out of nowhere Barret had handed the picture to him, shoulders slumped. He seemed so proud, but he seemed faraway, voice longing as he explained that was his daughter.

Cute little girl. Fair skin, chestnut brown hair. Obviously not Barret's kid, but that didn't matter, not to him. From what he'd understood, it was really the daughter of Barret's best friend, who'd supposedly died in the Corel fire. He'd found her, looking for survivors, and had gone into hiding in Midgar, raising her as his own daughter. He had never offered too much, paranoid at the time over the possibility that someone in their group was a spy.

And the look that had crossed his face when Cloud and Aerith informed them that the Shinra had taken Marlene captive, it had been almost unbearable to look at. It had been silent in the hotel room, and all eyes had been on Barret and Tifa, waiting for some sort of reaction, knowing their relation to the girl.

He'd been expecting anger from Barret, the regular, raging bravado that seemed to define him. But he'd just blinked, features losing their hardened appearance, and all the size, all the strength, just seemed to have been ripped right out of him. He'd slumped down into a chair, left hand groping blindly, pulling Tifa in close, both of them silent, their faces showing nothing but fear; grief.

The looks on their faces then, perfect mirrors of one another, had unsettled him; unsettled them all. Even when they were being led to the gas chamber, they hadn't looked so defeated.

And right now, the look on Barret's face was exactly as it had been back then, in that hotel room.

His head rolled to the side, lips still moving, silent now, mouthing 'Marlene' over and over again, in some sort of delirious, half-mad chant. Cid could see something in Barret's ear, dark and liquid.

Blood.

He'd seen it once before, after a fight with the Turks. Tifa had been in the middle of a dodge, hopping out of Reno's reach, turning. However, Rude had seen the opening and turned away from Nanaki, and just blind-sided her. Tifa had gone down, head smacking the ground with a hollow kind of thud, and she'd jerked convulsively, once, before going still, everyone, even the Turks, going silent at the sight.

She was dead. He'd been almost certain of it. Everyone had been. And Aerith had been shrieking at the top of her lungs, wailing, wide-eyed and teary. After the fight, as they were retreating, Rude pointed out the blood coming from Tifa's ears. 'Bad concussion' was all he had offered, before dashing off after Reno.

And it was. They weren't doctors. There wasn't much they could do, save for trying to keep her awake, ask her inane questions, even though for a while she was too scrambled for her to even answer coherently.

Vincent and Aerith had been the ones keeping an eye on her, and he didn't remember exactly what they had done for her, but they'd tried to keep her awake, get her to answer questions, no matter how many times she pushed them away angrily, slurring for them to 'fuck off'.

"Hey." He started harshly, leaning in close. He wanted to shake Barret, try to rouse him, but the pain in his arms was bad enough as it was. And jostling the other man probably wasn't the best idea, what with him already having some head trauma. "Hey! Barret, you there, man?"

But Barret didn't reply, chest rising in a deep breath, before he let it out in a booming, delirious shout for his daughter. Cid jerked back, eyes wide, nearly losing his cigarette again as he scuttled back, still on his knees.

Fucking _great_. He nudged Barret with the toe of his boot, getting no response. Didn't look like he'd get anything from him. Not now, anyway.

"_Hey_!" Came a muted, muffled voice, from... somewhere. "_He-ey_! _Is someone there_?_ Barret_?_ Can you hear me_?_ Bar-ret_!"

A heavy, rapid pounding came from the wall of rubble cutting him off from the back half of the deck, someone hitting at the other side of the debris, probably having heard Barret's shouting, and now trying to see if anyone else was over there.

He jumped up, making his way over to the source of the noise, looking.

"_Hello_!" The voice started again, and Cid leaned in close, seeing a small gap in the whole mess, which he put his mouth up to, spitting out the butt of his cigarette before he spoke.

"Tifa?" He asked, pitching his voice up a little bit, not yelling as loud as she was, but loud enough all the same "Tifa, that you, doll?"

"_Cid_?" She sounded surprised, hopeful. He pulled back from the gap a little, and found himself staring at one half-wild burgundy colored eye, which blinked at him, widening slightly. "_Cid, are you okay_?"

He nodded slightly, grimacing.

"I'll live." He shrugged. "Are you okay?"

The eye shifted around, rolling haphazardly for a second, before locking back onto him.

"_...Yeah, I'm... fine. I'm fine._"

Funny, didn't sound like it.

"Tifa are you l-"

"_Vincent's dead_." She cut in abruptly, voice anguished, cutting him off mid-sentence. On purpose, no doubt; misdirection. But still, the words were enough to stop him, and he stared at the eye once again, focused on it.

It looked scared, terrified, and there was a slick coating of blood across the skin all around it. He could only imagine what she looked like, how bad it could be stuck back there, curled in a confined little space along with Vincent's corpse.

"Anyone else back there?"

"_Yuffie. But she's out cold. I don't know if she'll..._" Her voice caught on itself, and she stopped, not allowing herself to admit to the rest of that sentence.

"Barret's here." Cid explained. "I don't know how bad he is either. Think it's a concussion, he's shouting for his daughter. Cait Sith is scrapped."

"_Nanaki and Cloud?_"

"No idea." he admitted, shaking his head, watching as the eye flinched shut. "Do you have your PHS on you?" It was a long shot, and the eye drooped a little, wagging side-to-side in a negative response.

"_I have it, but it isn't working. I tried. We're probably too far out of range. Nobody to call to help us anyway, is there?_"

"Can you pass it through to me? This hole big enough?" He asked, and the eye disappeared for a moment. He could hear her fumbling around slightly, before a hand, bloody and cut up, burnt a little, snaked through. The fighting glove had been taken off of it, and now, in the dim, green light it looked delicate and ghostly pale, like a dead person's arm reaching through the wall, like in some old, black and white horror movie. The PHS, still serviceable, was held flat in the fingers, and he cupped his palms under it, nudging it loose from the hand. The hand came up then, groping a little until the fingers grasped his cheek, and laid there for a moment, running across the few days-worth of stubble on his face.

The fingers were wet, trailing sticky streaks of blood along, and he felt a muscle twitch in his cheek. Was it Vincent's blood? Her blood?

"_What do you need it for_?" The hand pulled back, snaking through the hole, and then, the eye was back again, questioning. He looked it over, ignoring the eye for a moment, breathing out a relieved sigh. Despite the blood all over it, it was still in good condition. He'd figure out a way to hook it up to Cait Sith's wiring, he was sure of it. But putting it together would be a different story entirely. The eye and the hand probably wouldn't be able to help him. _Tifa_ wouldn't be able to help him.

He finally glanced back towards the hole in the wall, seeing the eye still there, waiting for him.

"Listen, Tifa, just hold tight, okay? Hold tight. I'm going to see if I can't rig this up to what's left of Cait Sith, and patch in to Reeve. If I can get Cait Sith back up and running, Reeve can track the robot back to us, and we'll be able to get out of here."

"_What should we do if you can't_?" The question wasn't rude, and while he was certain he normally would have taken offense to someone doubting his abilities, in this case, he had to admit that her fears were entirely justified.

"I don't know. Clock's ticking, innit?" He paused, looking back at the eye, which regarded him with a resigned air, as if expecting that answer all along.

"_Yeah. Yeah, it is._"

"Tif..."

The eye widened a little, waiting.

"Just... gimme a yell every now and again, okay? Don't need either of us going stir crazy now."

Yeah. No pressure, right? No worries. One of them already dead, one out of commission, two out cold, two MIA, at the moment, it only left them.

So he _had_ to do it. For Tifa at least. He _knew_ he still had Tifa.

"_Sure. Cid_?"

"Yeah Tif?"

"_I think I'm d... I'm going to check on Yuffie. Check on Barret for me, would you_?"

"I'll keep an eye on the big guy."

He wanted to say more to her. But what was there to say? Neither of them had cracked as to how bad their injuries were, probably not wanting to rankle the other any more than they already were. No point in trying to say anything else.

He had work to do.

He spared one last glance at Barret, seeing his lips still moving, and made his way over to Cait's hulking remains, kicking at the debris, wanting to move his arms as little as humanly possible. He toed away a scrap of sheet metal, emblazoned with one of his bikini goddess's rather generous breasts, and there, beneath it, was the crushed remains of the cat, most of the fur burnt off, exposing the mechanical insides, along with a charred layer of foam rubber, which was half-melted, fusing it to the deck.

Crouching down, he used the heel of his left hand to prod at the remains of the head, feeling the padding give, sliding away easily, pliable and with a slightly greasy feel. The gleaming metal skull lay exposed, and Cid prodded it again, causing it to turn lazily, still mired in the goo that had once resembled a grinning, cheerful feline.

He knew there were mechanics in the megaphone that Cait Sith used, but it was all for getting the mog-body to react. The cat was the head; the brain.

The link to Reeve.

The metal was dull, giving off a slight gleam in the dim green illumination, but he could see the panel on the back. There weren't screws on the back, just a catch to release it.

Well, maybe Lady Luck was coming back to him; jilted by her erstwhile lover, and was crawling back, begging for forgiveness, for him to take her back.

And for a lady such as her alluring self, he was all too willing to take her back with open arms.

He thumbed the catch, grimacing a little as the twist of pain in the second knuckle, but he steeled himself, trying to keep from dwelling on it. It would do no good to start simpering now. He was the Captain. He had to bring them all home.

Barret howled briefly for Marlene again, his left arm flailing at some unseen assailant. Cid just shook his head, muttering under his breath at him, gaze focused on the wiring that was exposed.

He was a mechanic, sure; a pilot. But when he'd been interning with the Shinra, before he'd made a name for himself in the war as an ace pilot, he'd done some work with their budding attempts at AI, they'd been interested in using it for flying missions. AI was no match for _real_ pilots, he had been certain, but he'd learned enough about the parts.

Two thick cords of wire connected to the wide eyes, and he used his thumbs to push them out of the way, breath catching a little.

Don't think about it, old man. It's not _that_ bad. He could _move _them. All that mattered. His hands were turning an angry, bruised purple in some spots, and when he moved his middle finger, the last knuckle bulged from somewhere down in the middle of his hand. On his left hand, the fingers were almost jagged. If he tried to straighten them, they were crooked, far too thick with swelling. It was going to be hard to be precise. But all he had to do was rig it up slip-shod; long as it worked.

There was a mechanical voice-box, microphone in it to transmit Reeve's voice. He was probably going to need that. It attached to the mouth, the gleaming robotic jaw. It didn't look like it'd be so hard, once he sorted it all out.

Glancing up, he saw the eye there, spying out at him; scrutinizing. He threw it a small grin, and then dropped his eyes back to the wires in the skull, ignorant now that he had an idea of how to go about it.

He worked almost mechanically, focusing on keeping his breathing slow and measured, trying not to let the pain bother him. But it was still there, throbbing up his arms, bad enough to make his stomach roll, and cause him to stop a few times, head spinning as he tried to keep it together.

It might have been hours as he pulled the wires apart and pulled them up to where he could get at them easily. A myriad of colorful curses sprang to his mind as his clumsy fingers couldn't grab a segment on the first try. But eventually, he got what he needed, the necessary wires sticking up out of the back of the skull, like a frayed, scraggly Mohawk.

The eye had been an almost constant presence, and he'd toiled away under its watchful gaze.

Now all he had to do was get the PHS hooked up to it, and hopefully it would be enough to get a hold of Reeve.

He glanced over at Barret, who had been surprisingly quiet the whole time, seeing that he was still breathing, chest rising and falling slowly. At the gap in the wall, the eye wasn't there. Maybe Yuffie had come around. Given that there wasn't much that Tifa could do back there except for wait on his success, that was the only thing he could think of that would draw the eye away from that spot.

It was probably another hour or so until he managed to wire the skull up to Tifa's bloodied PHS, and by the time he'd managed to finish, most of the green luminescence from the Lifestream was gone, leaving them in almost pitch blackness. He had to finish up soon, before it was too dark to see.

He _had_ to have this right in one go. There probably wouldn't be time to go back and dig around in the skull, trying to reroute wires. God only knew how much harm all this time was doing to their injured. Cloud and Nanaki could be slowly expiring somewhere, crushed, suffocating, or...

Ugh. Jesus.

It was worse, wondering about the two of them. At least he knew about Barret and Tifa. And Tifa told him about Vincent and Yuffie. And he himself was fine, but the fact that Cloud and Nanaki were... somewhere rankled him. Hopefully they had the luck of getting stuck somewhere, together, so that they were relatively alright and had a way to keep each other sane.

What he didn't know, though, was at that moment, the two of them _were_ together, Nanaki's hind quarters pinned beneath some debris, Cloud sprawled next to him. The beast simpered with his eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to see Cloud's blank, dead eyes staring back at him.

Looking down at his work, he let out a tired sigh, before reaching out, thumbing the 'call' button. If it worked, it should patch right into Reeve's comm. link for Cait Sith. Assuming he still had it turned _on_, and that this set-up would even-

"_Yeah-huh_?" A voice crackled over the PHS, expectant. Cait's lower jaw snapped up and down, and some of the blackened padding that still clung to the metal shifted as well, futilely trying to create the proper facial expression.

Cid's pulse started pounding. It worked!

...But it didn't sound like Reeve. Granted, the first Cait Sith had had a completely altered voice. But after Reeve had been found out as the spy, and the first body had been crushed in getting them the Black Materia, a second one had come, and the voice was different, Reeve having given up on the façade, as they all knew who he was now.

"Reeve?" He asked tentatively into the mouthpiece, eyebrows crunched as he tried to place the voice. It sounded familiar somehow, but he couldn't place it. He knew it wasn't Reeve, but...

"_Noooooo_..." The voice drawled out lazily, light, joking tone in his voice. "_May I ask who's calling_?"

Trite, cheeky little...

"Cid Highwind!" He snapped angrily, hardly noticing the roll of pain through his hand as he clamped his hand down on the PHS. "Look, this is a matter of life or death, so if you-"

"_Life_ or_ death_?" The person on the other end interrupted "_Well, if I have a _choice_, then I'm pretty sure that I'd most likely go with_-"

"_Give me that_." Someone else on the other end interrupted, and there was a scuffling sound, and what sounded like a body hitting the floor, before the new voice came over the line "_Highwind_?"

"Yeah. Who's this?" He asked. The voice, much like the one that had answered, sounded familiar. But it still wasn't Reeve.

"_Rude_."

Cid bit back a growl, glaring down at the PHS.

"Hey, I think I have every right to..." He stopped, finally putting it together. It was the Turks. Motherfuckers had wanted them _dead _since day one. "Right, right. Rude. Is Reeve there?"

"_Not at the moment._"

"Well, look, I... _we_ can't exactly wait for him to pick up. Is Cait's tracker working?"

"..._Yes_."

Cid breathed a sigh of relief, hoping that Rude wouldn't be a dick about this, like whoever had picked up.

"Give the coordinates to Reeve. We need help."

"_What kind of help_?"

"What kind of fucking help do you think! We fucking crashed, and at least _one_ of us is dead already!" He shouted, rage starting to boil over. If he ever saw these idiots again-

"_Alright, alright._" He sounded bored with the whole thing."_Looks like you're about thirty miles outside of Kalm. I'll fill Reeve in._"

"_Not even going to make them squirm a little, Rude_? _Wh_-"

"_Stop it, Reno._" He sighed again, and the next statement was directed at Cid "_Look, we-_ I'll _take care of it. Reeve's been worrying about all of you since Cait Sith's feed cut out, so once he gets word of this, he'll jump at the news and get somebody out there._"

"How long will it take?" He glanced up, and the eye was there this time, wide and waiting. He sighed and dropped his voice a little, hoping that Tifa wouldn't hear his next sentence "Some of us are banged up pretty bad. Tifa's the only other one that's conscious, but I don't know how bad she's hurt. Couple of us are missing. We need to get out of here as soon as we can."

"_We'll do our best._" He replied evenly. "_I need to tell Reeve about this. Someone will be in touch_." The line went dead abruptly, but Cid didn't care. He jumped to his feet, making his way back to the eye, seeing it waiting for him.

"I got through." He crowed, a smile splitting his lips. It seemed absurd; out of place given their situation, but he didn't care. However, the eye didn't seem to share his enthusiasm, and jingled up and down a little, accepting the news, half-shut and dull. "Rude said they'd be in touch, let us know when they'll get here."

Another nod, and the eye was focused downward, probably at something on its own side of the wall.

"_Yuffie's okay. She came to, and we talked for a while, but she's asleep again. Her legs are pinned down, bones are broken. So tell them to be careful when they're moving the debris, in case it's worse than I could tell._"

What did that mean, 'so tell them'? Why couldn't she do it herself? She was right there.

"Can't you tell them yo-"

"_Cid, I'm hurt bad, alright_?" She admitted finally, almost angrily, eye falling almost all the way shut.

"How bad?" He asked, leaning in close until they were eye-to-eye.

It was silent for a moment, and then she stepped back, and the hand came through again, palm up, blood coating it, shining sable in the dimness. But he didn't have time to dwell on the sight, as the hand retreated back in. He expected the eye to come back, and eventually it did, steeled, upset.

"_That bad._ _I patched myself up, but_..._ Just tell them, alright_?" The eye dropped out of sight then, and Cid swore to himself, wondering what she was doing.

"Tifa?" He asked sharply, peering into the hole, trying to look in on her side. But it was darker over there, too dark now to see anything. "Tifa! Don't-"

"_I think... I'm going to lie down for a bit._"

"Don't." He repeated, gritting his teeth. "Don't do that. Tifa, Reeve's going to get here-"

"_When_? _I've been bleeding the whole time, Cid_."

He pounded his hand on the wall angrily, ignoring the pain.

"Why didn't you _say_ anything!" He demanded, swallowing at the lump in his throat.

"_Nothing would change. You'd just be gnawing on the thought the whole time; that I was over here slowly languishing_."

"Tifa, _please_, hang on. For me. You can't just..." He trailed off, forehead resting against the debris, exhaling shakily. He couldn't even see her right now. He wanted to. If she was... if she _was_, he wanted to be able to see her one last time. He didn't want the eye and the hand to be the last he ever saw of her. "You can't."

"_Don't worry about it. Get a little rest, okay_?"

"You expect me to-"

But he didn't finish, trailing off as a purple glow erupted above him, soft and glimmering. He could see a green glow from the other side, and in that brief moment, he could see her, sitting there, hunched over, looking up at him, her face wan. There were messy, hasty bandages wound around her midsection, and on her left side, he could see that the leg of her pants was slicked to her skin with blood.

What was she...

He stared at her, shocked and a little betrayed that she'd do this to him. Did she really want to die like that? Or was it...

She didn't want him to have to see it?

The purple light filtered down around him, and he staggered back, staring at her wide-eyed, feeling suddenly very tired despite all the adrenaline, all the pent-up anger.He didn't _want_ to be put to sleep. She needed _help_. They all needed-

"Tifa... Tifa why..."

But he never finished, toppling backwards onto the deck; asleep.

The next thing he knew, someone was jostling him, knocking him out of his magically-induced slumber. His eyes cracked open, and he stared blearily up at a blonde woman and a red-haired man, who were regarding him worriedly. The red-head broke into a bright grin, nudging at him with the toe of his boot.

"He-ey! Up and at 'em, Highwind. All that bitching, and yet here you are, asleep at the switch! Not very nice of you, now is-"

Everything came flooding back to him as he took in his surroundings. The crash, Barret, Cait Sith, Tifa, the call trying to reach Reeve, and Reno on the other end of the line, making a joke about-

With a shout of rage he reared up, swollen hand clenching into the best fist he could muster, and swung, fist connecting solidly with Reno's jaw, the end of his sentence dissolving into a surprised yelp of pain. Elena squealed and jumped back in surprise, watching as Reno lost his footing on the uneven deck and went down. Hard.

His hands hurt.

But right now, that was the least of his worries.

* * *

About the hand and eye thing when Cid and Tifa are talking, I had Cid thinking about her as 'the hand' and 'the eye' because that was all he could see of her. So I wrote it almost like he was viewing them as separate singular entities or something. 


	3. Chapter 3

I'm sorry for killing Vincent and Cloud. Really, I love the boys, but I decided to cut them loose for this story. Part of it _was_ for the value of going against the 'everyone is alive and fancy free' aspect in a lot of post-Meteor stories, but the more I thought it over, I decided on those two, for the plot. A plot which will be detailed in Tifa's part in this shindig. Coincidentally, this is a Tifa part. Ooh la la.

Vincent was dying.

For the fiftieth goddamn time, he was dying. And those blood-red eyes were open, staring...

Right at her.

She wanted to do something, but every time was exactly the same as the last. Exactly the same as the first. His right hand pulling her down, pulling her in so close that their wounds were close enough for their exposed guts to touch, and his mouth against hers, nearly kissing her as he sighed out his last words.

"_Never wanted to die alone, Tifa. Always thought..._"

And she had kissed him then, a friendly, parting gesture.

But she still felt like a monster. Even as he let out his last feeble gasp of air, his blood pooling out from his stomach, from his leg, she was pushing him, rolling him slightly to grab his cape and rip it free, half frantic in her attempts to get the clasps undone, her bloodied hands slipping on the polished metal.

Once she had gotten it free, she tore at it, frenzied like an animal, and once she had stripped enough of it away, she reached up, grasping at the slick weight of her exposed intestines, shoving them back into the wound, sucking in a tight breath as she held them there, bandaging it up.

That done, she'd cast as many cure spells as she could, trying to slow the bleeding down to a trickle, enough so that she could hold on, a green glow from her gauntlet nearly blinding her, before dissolving back...

Right to the start again. Right to the hot, sliding point of friction against her side, zipping her open, the strangled sound from Vincent as whatever had clipped her hit him dead-on. The sensation of being thrown through the air, weightless for a moment before gravity caught up and she slammed back down against the deck, eyes screwed shut, breath nearly bursting in her lungs, unable to _breathe_.

And then pushing herself up once they stopped, on her hands and knees, and looking down, seeing her guts pushed out, hanging, _dangling_ towards the ground, and then seeing Vincent, crawling in close to him, seeing just how _awful_ his injuries were, her right hand, sopping with blood reaching out toward his face hesitantly. And then the hand on her wrist gripping desperate and vice-like, hauling her in close until they were face to face, wound-to-wound, and those eyes staring at her...

"_Never wanted to die alone, Tifa. Always thought..._"

She didn't want to have to keep doing this. It wasn't right. It wasn't _fair_. Sure, she'd done terrible things, all for some nearly all-consuming desire to make Shinra pay for every bad, sneaky, God-awful thing they'd ever done. That little dunk she'd taken in the Lifestream, all those dead voices shrieking at her no matter how she tried to justify what she'd done, it was all too obvious.

But even so, this was too cruel, even for Hell.

It had to be Hell. Had to. Why else would she be forced to go through seeing Vincent die over and over and _over_, not even being able to do anything? It was like she was some third-party fly on the wall watching the same loop again and again...

So why Vincent? She'd done nothing to him, save for care about him. They'd been comrades, friends... she'd never hurt him. So why be forced to watch his death? Why his, and not that lackey of Corneo's? She'd killed him; pulled him off of Aerith, got an arm around his throat and then twisted with a sharp _snap_, dropping the dead weight of his body, leaving him face-down on the floor of a seedy Slum whorehouse.

Then again, she had felt no remorse at that. If anything, she'd felt justified. Bad example. What of those that were still lying crushed and decaying beneath the ruins of the Sector Seven plate? It had been AVALANCHE's fault that Shinra had ordered that. All those people killed for the sake of trying to exterminate some 'vermin'. So why wasn't she knee-deep in squalling, grasping corpses shrieking for retribution?

Vincent had spoken to her of atonement, his way of attempting to deal with his own torments; his regret over what had happened in the past to turn him into the man he was now.

Or rather, the man he had been. For the fifty-second time now, she was kissing him goodbye, already reaching for his cloak, needing it to make bandages, lest she end up like him.

Atoning... Was that what this was? Atonement? Was having to watch this again and again going to put her back on the level after what she had done? If so, how long was this going to go on for? Fifty more times? A hundred years worth? _Forever_?

At least she'd been able to say goodbye to him, in a way. Yuffie had gone back to sleep, never knowing how bad it really was. She had told Cid, and then had hit him with a Sleepel spell, not wanting to have to face him, well, as much as she could, given the barrier between them.

Barret. She hadn't been able to say goodbye to Barret.

Or Nanaki.

Or Cloud.

In the end, she'd curled up next to Vincent, his still-warm blood soaking into her clothes, mingling with the blood already on her. Resigned to her fate, she leaned her head on his shoulder, knees tucked up to her chest, and let herself drift off.

But had she known that _this_ would be awaiting her, she would have tried to stay awake, would have listened to Cid. It would probably have ended up the same, but at least she would have tried to avoid this fate in the afterlife, rather than laying down and accepting it.

"_Never wanted to die alone, Tifa. Always thought..._"

Her eyes snapped open, and she found herself staring hazily through one eye into an all consuming whiteness. Was this...

Had she finally been moved on to the next level of Hell? No more Vincent; no more red eyes and dying whispers? Was it over now, was she free?

"You're awake." A voice murmured from off to her side, sounding almost surprised, but at the same time, not sounding all that moved by the observation.

Her head rolled to the side, and she blinked her right eye slowly, scrutinizing the speaker. A man was sitting there, in a military green-colored vinyl chair. One leg was crossed over the other, and he wore a blue suit; neatly pressed.

He was looking at her oddly, expression impossible to read. He had fine Wutaian features, with an almost effeminate quality to them, and immaculate, jet-black hair, which was combed back from his forehead, hanging straight to about his shoulders.

She knew him.

And he was...

He was dead too.

So this was going to be the next level, was it? Stuck in a room with a dead Turk for a good slice of eternity. What would be next? Working as a receptionist for Corneo?

Oh, don't give them any ideas.

"Yeah, I guess." She muttered finally, put off by the whole situation. She sighed, reaching up with her left hand, touching at her forehead, where it had been all cut up, feeling gauze and bandages covering the wound, and her left eye as well. There were tubes up her nose, and as she shifted her left arm experimentally, feeling little pin-prick tugs of pain, she noticed there were also tubes in her arm, and something clamped over her finger. Her side and her right arm ached, throbbing dull and demanding, but it still didn't explain what that Turk was doing here in the room with her.

Well, it was Hell, so it didn't have to make sense. Besides, when they'd found him at the Temple of the Ancients, wounded as he was, they could have helped him; probably could have saved him. But they had just walked right by, leaving him where he was slouched against the wall.

Understandable. So why was she so banged up? Had her wounds from the crash carried over into this part of her afterlife? Glorious. And now she had Tseng, formerly of the Turks, playing nursemaid to her for the next little stretch of forever.

Let the good times roll.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, still sounding like he didn't particularly care to hear the answer.

What kind of question…..

"Like I've died." She bit out tiredly, rolling her eyes. "You know the feeling, I'm sure."

Surprisingly, he offered a small smile, as if they shared some secret, personal joke between them, a slight chuff of laughter making his shoulders tremble.

"Yes, yes. I suppose I _do_ know the feeling. Not exactly pleasant, is it Miss Lockhart?" Her mouth quirked a little, lips pressed together. Unless he was going to spend the next millennia smothering her with a pillow, maybe this wouldn't be as bad. Always polite, Tseng. Even when he had chased her down through the Shinra building, nearly decapitated her, he had been nothing but polite. Compared to the Turks under his command, he'd been a downright gentleman.

Not that _that_ was much of a consolation.

"What are you here for?" She asked finally, following his glance towards something across the room. He was looking at the clock mounted on the wall, which almost read two o'clock. It looked dark outside, so it might have been two in the morning. But then again, her spot in the afterlife was probably always going to be dark.

"Well, _I_ won't be here much longer, but we've been asked to keep an eye on you."

"Who asked?"

But she didn't receive an answer as the door suddenly banged open, and Reno backed into the room, hands up placatingly, an innocent expression on his face as someone from out in the hall continued cursing at him. He had his suit jacket off, sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, and she could see the thick leather cuffs around his wrists, steel rings dangling from them.

She stared at them, suddenly remembering how much she had _hated_ those fucking things. He hadn't had them the first time they'd fought, but the next time, when the Turks had ambushed them in Gongaga, she had kicked the mag-rod out of his hand, and gone in for another hit, expecting the weapon to skitter off to the side and leave him momentarily open. But those cuffs were there, hidden under the sleeves of his jacket. The mag-rod was tethered to the steel ring; just a swing of his wrist, and the weapon was back in his hand and close enough that the crackle of electricity managed to singe some of the hair on her right temple.

The smell of the burnt hair came to mind, and her stomach shrank in on itself a little, both from the memory, and the thought that trailed along after it.

Oh. Oh God. Was this going to be her next level of Hell? Stuck in a bed as an invalid with both Tseng and Reno? Was she going to get impromptu shock treatments forever while the redhead chattered away in that almost perpetually joking tone, and Tseng callously urged him to crank up the volts?

And while she was thinking about it, would her eyeballs burst, or melt? Would her jaw lock, severing her own tongue as she screeched and convulsed? And would things go back to normal; would _she_ go back to normal after he was done, only to let him start the whole thing all over again?

Ugh. Morbid much?

"Highwind, yo, give it a rest, huh? Look, if anything changes, we'll give you a heads up, alright? But until then, hanging around and goggling Sleeping Beauty" He paused, jerking a thumb in the direction of her bed "Is pretty much our gig. It's not like you guys hovering over her and hanging on every breath she sucks in is going to push her along on the way to actually coming around."

Cid?

Cid was here too? But he wasn't...

She stared dumbly toward the door, trying to make heads or tails of the situation. She saw a hand shoot through the dwindling open space of the door as Reno squeezed through, too-thick fingers scrabbling dumbly at the collar of his shirt. The redhead just leaned back, avoiding the grab, his lips pressed together in a thin, unamused line.

"I don't care! We haven't been allowed to see her since she was put in here. The kid's been in tears about it all-"

"Yeah, I know. She's been bitching at us, you've been bitching at us, shit, now that the big guy's coherent again, _he's _bitching at us. And... oh, don't start with that again. You've already decked me enough times as it is. I don't think that's doing much for your recovery time. Besides, visiting hours are way beyond over. So toddle on back to bed, dude. Reeve's already all over my ass."

It was quiet for a moment, all of the humor gone from Reno's voice. He had straightened up from his normally slouched posture, and the easy, mocking grin, the carefree attitude, had all seemed to evaporate as he stared Cid down, not willing to budge.

The door clicked shut, locked, and she heard Reno sigh tiredly.

"Love this job, Tseng. _Love_ it. At least their dog's been chill about this whole situation. I don't get it anyway. The broad probably isn't even going to wak….." He stopped short, realizing that the 'broad' in question was sitting up and frowning at him, right eye narrowed at him indistinguishably. His business face melted away into a slightly sheepish, guilty expression, and he gave her a bright, almost appallingly overdone grin "Oh, _hiiiiiii_ Tifa. Good to see you back among the living and all that."

Back among the living?

What did that…..

Why was he…..

What did that…..

What did that _mean_?

Unless….. unless.

"What's going on?" Tifa finally asked, sitting up a little straighter, picking uneasily at the tape across her cheekbone. Her eye hurt, and the adhesive itched. It had tacked slightly at one corner, curling back from her skin, giving her a bit of purchase to pick at it. She glanced back and forth between Reno, who was still giving her an obscenely overdone smile, and Tseng, who regarded her coolly, as if waiting for her to make up her mind to speak. Her eye shifted over them, back and forth, back and forth, scrutinizing the bruises and the black eye marring the left side of Reno's face. What the Hell had happened to him?

"What's the last thing you remember?" Tseng asked after a moment, standing up. She just shook her head, gesturing inarticulately for a moment, seeing Vincent's dulling eyes staring balefully up at her.

"I went to sleep next to Vincent. I was dying anyway, and..." She paused, looked at Reno, looked at Tseng, before her left hand came up, rubbing at her temples. A headache, both from the almost overpowering scent of sterility in the room, and from her tired mind running itself sick, was starting right at the base of her eyes. Oooooh boy. Now it was starting to make sense. She kept her head down, gesturing tiredly in Tseng's direction. "You... you're not dead, are you?"

A small, rueful smile touched Tseng's lips, and he shook his head.

"No more than you are, Miss Lockhart. Where did you think you were? Hell?"

She just sighed, staring at the IV needles in her arm. Reno snorted derisively, as if he found this all very amusing, and Tseng just clicked his tongue, chuckling lightly.

"No offense." She muttered dourly.

"No; none taken. You were in bad sorts when we found you, but apparently, death doesn't seem to suit you." He paused, sniffing disdainfully "Which, I suppose, happens to be something you've grown accustomed to."

"Yeah," Reno chimed in, extending his right forearm, wrist up, and smacking the skin by the crook of his elbow, where a slight bruise had formed "You've got two pints of Reno in ya, baby!"

Tifa pulled a face at him, horrified. Two pints of _any_ of Reno's bodily fluids anywhere near her was two pints too many.

"I mean, Hell" Reno went on; oblivious of the look she gave him "We're pretty much ready to give you honorary Turk status on that fact alone."

"Well, my shift is over." Tseng announced, still looking at the clock. "Miss Lockhart, it has been a pleasure." He bowed slightly, respectful, before heading toward the door. "Would you care for me to inform Mr. Highwind of your status?"

She just shook her head silently, plucking at a frayed thread at the edge of the blanket. She didn't want to have to see him right now. Not like this. He'd be upset about her putting him to sleep; he'd probably want to know _why_ she had done that. It had been the last thing he said before he'd fallen asleep, after all.

"Well, shit, when we do break the news to them, _you_ do it. Guy's decked me, like, ten times already. And those casts _hurt_." Reno called after him. The door opened and shut, leaving her alone with the redhead.

It was silent for a while, until Reno, tired of the silence, ambled over, leaning with his forearms on the hospital bed, staring up at her.

"Soooooo..." He started casually, drumming his fingers against her thigh. He was looking at her almost expectantly "Can I get you something, or, uh... something?" He tried, sounding rather out of place in talking to her, trying to be polite; nice.

He was probably under orders by Reeve, or Tseng, or….. somebody to try and not be such a condescending ass. Or maybe he was laying off for now because she had almost died. It probably wouldn't last long though.

She didn't really want to wait for him to break form and go back to his regular, mocking self. But from the looks of it, she couldn't really ignore him and wait for him to leave, now could she? Apparently the Turks were on round the clock surveillance of them for….. well, for whatever reason they were. And for now, confined to her bed, sick and disoriented as she was, there was only him, and the maddening itch of the loosening adhesive beneath her left eye. She blinked sluggishly at the offending veil of gauze, feeling the slight pressure as her eyelashes grazed against it. Going back to sleep was by no means a tantalizing escape either. If she went back to sleep, would Vincent be there again, snagging her by the wrist to start that all over again?

Vincent...

"Who else" She started finally, glancing up at him, face set "Who else died?"

"Well, you _know_ about Valentine, I'm positive" He shrugged, mouth turning down at the edges, again losing the smirk "Your boy Strife was the only other casualty. Broken neck. If anything, it was fast; yanno, painless. Reeve's going to want to talk to you once he finds out you're up. Funeral arrangements and all that. He figures that you'd, ah, probably have the best idea as to where to….. put them." He trailed off lamely, glancing away from her one visible, bewildered eye, shrugging again as he stared out the window, even though there was really nothing to look at. Probably anything to avoid looking at her after what he'd just told her.

She just stared at him, shocked. The information sank in with surprising ease.

Cloud was gone too. Just like that. He...

He was with Aerith now.

She could take some small solace in that; what he wanted all along, ever since...

Her left hand came up to her mouth, teeth catching her index finger, biting down a little in case the tears started to come.

And they did, wetting the gauze covering her left eye. But not for the reason that she thought they would. Reno saw this and jerked back, hand coming off of her thigh, hovering a few inches from the bed, as if he weren't able to put them back down. His eyes were wide, almost _horrified_, as if he'd never expected to see the day that she would break down in tears.

"Oh. Oh no... Um." He was sputtering, reaching out, before his hand snaked back, and then finally, he reached back out, hands awkwardly hovering around her, moving, as if he didn't know what to do with them; where to put them. Or even if he should risk touching her or not. He finally got her shoulders in a clumsy, too-tight vice grip, almost in a bargain-basement excuse for a hug. Either that, or her was contemplating whether or not to start shaking her and yelling for her to stop crying.

The uncertainty of his actions was funny; almost. In that dark little corner of her mind, she was certain that if this situation were any less _horrible_, and he were anything close to a friend, she might have found it in herself to push him away, mustering up a little, tear-choked laugh at his reaction. He didn't know what to do.

She didn't know what to do.

Cloud and Vincent were dead. She had accepted the fact that she was going to die too. But now, she hadn't.

But, oh God. She should have.

She _should_ have.

What was there now? For the past five years, after nearly dying in Nibelheim, her old life completely torn away, she had gone against the Shinra; tried to save the Planet. It had been her sole, all-consuming focus. But that was all over now. Done. So, her life was done too. That was it. She'd gotten her revenge, she'd helped save the Planet. Two lives already, done and finished. What was the point of starting a third? Starting from nothing?

There was _nothing_ left.

"Oh G….." She muttered, against the skin of her hand, taking in a shaky gasp of air, shoulders twitching to try and get Reno to let go of her. "Damn it all."


	4. Chapter 4

This chapter ended up differently than I had intended. As opposed to tagging along after an AVALANCHE member, we have….. Rude. Who I have styled as a bit of a disaffected war vet. So, here he's observing, philosophizing, drawing parallels, and….. chatting with Nanaki. I don't really know if this one works with the flow of things. Plot will move along next chapter.

* * *

"No funeral."

He hovered by the doorway, stiffly, watching as Reeve sputtered and stumbled over his words trying to come up with a reply; any kind of reply to respond to that. His mouth curled down at the corner when the executive-turned-spy-turned-double-agent just gestured weakly towards her, mouth opening and closing a few times before finally mustering a weak, unconvincing

"Why not?"

She rolled slightly, more onto her back so she was actually looking at him now, albeit she had to crane her neck to glance over her shoulder. She had been laying with her back to the door when he had walked in, as she had been apt to do since she woke up two days before. He realized that she wanted to be left alone; didn't want to talk, but that hardly deterred the others from walking right in and trying to pull her into one conversation or another.

And, oh, she responded gamely, throwing out tiny, encouraging smiles when necessary, nodding, assuring them she was fine; they were all immediate, automatic responses running from memory. But it was all a show. As convincing and deceiving an actress as Tifa Lockhart was, he could see right _through_ it. While Reeve talked at her for the better part of ten minutes detailing what had to be done about arrangements, and caskets, and tombstone inscriptions and all the distasteful realities of having to take care of their deceased, he had merely stood back, eyes tracking along the column of her spine, visible through the gap at the back of her paper-thin hospital gown. She had kicked the sheets off, and the gown had ridden up a bit, exposing the bottom edge of the bandages around her mid-section, and there were bandages over her thighs, her calves, almost like some old mummification burial right that had only been half-finished.

One eye, monstrous, the white blotted red from a nasty hyphema, regarded him almost angrily. First it was just that; the glare from over her shoulder. But then, she was moving, shifting, onto her back and sitting up, left hand gripping the rail that ran along the side of her bed. Her left side was still much of a problem, stitched up as it was, and her right arm had been rather badly burned, skin having peeled off along with her fighter's glove when they went to administer an IV as they were airlifting her to the hospital.

That arm, heavily swaddled in gauze, came up, scratching at one of the stitches above her left eye, the gauze patch no longer covering it. Since coming to, she had steadily picked at the bandaging there, and since the gauze had been taken off finally, she resorted to picking at the stitches, which often earned her a slap on the hand and a scolding by the one nurse she seemed to know, possibly an underground connection to AVALANCHE.

"No. No funeral, Reeve." She repeated, that disgusting red-blotched eye boring into him as her nail dug at one of the fine black lines keeping the patchwork of lacerations held shut. "The others said to leave it to my decision, and _that_ is my decision."

"That still doesn't-"

"Fine," she sighed, annoyed "Then I'll explain it. People don't _like_ us, Reeve. W-"

"We saved the world." Reeve interrupted, stumbling over the 'we' a little. Yes, he was Cait Sith, but at the same time, the others were as of yet unaccustomed to interacting with the mind behind the ally that had caused them some troubles in the past.

"Yes." She agreed, nodding a little "But at the same time, we're terrorists. Remember? Because everybody else sure does. People blame us for some of the things that happened. No matter what we did, the great, all-consuming Shinra media machine brought us out as monsters. People might desecrate their graves; their remains. They don't deserve that. That, and they already returned to the Planet. Their bodies are _nothing_ anymore."

Reeve just swallowed, looking away from her as she explained it all. He obviously wasn't on the same page as Tifa. He wanted to think of them, of AVALANCHE, as the 'good guys'; the ones that had saved the world. Not the ones that had used bombs to disable reactors, killing hundreds in the process. Then again, Reeve had always been too much of an idealist for his own good.

Finally, he nodded, mollified, and looked at her, avoiding her gaze.

"Then what do you suggest? You seemed to know them better than any of the others, so-"

"Cremate them." She nodded, as if she had come up with that answer _ages_ ago, and had just been waiting for somebody to ask the question. "Do that, and give me the ashes. I'll take care of it."

Reeve opened his mouth to say more, but Tifa was already turning, rolling back onto her right side, away from him; ending the conversation as she saw fit. He floundered for a moment longer, before he nodded, forcing out a downhearted goodbye to Tifa, before turning toward the door, shooting him a forlorn look.

He stepped back after Reeve, pulling the door partway shut behind them.

"She hates me, Rude. I know it." He sighed morosely, thumb and forefinger sliding slowly over his goatee in a nervous gesture. "She's not like that to the others."

"She's lying to the others" He replied evenly, dropping his voice a little as they passed Yuffie's room, noticing the young ninja sitting in a wheelchair, legs jutting straight out in front of her, bound in casts from just above her knees to her feet. She was thumbing through some magazine that Elena had run out and gotten for her at a little Wutaian import store a few blocks from the hospital. The blonde was surprisingly eager to run errands and help the AVALANCHE members with requests. The ninja's eyes were red, skin blotchy, and it looked like she'd been crying again. She always seemed to be crying about one thing or another now. The girl had always seemed so exuberant, like their fight was all just one big game. She'd led a privileged life, so to be slapped in the face with such devestation….. "She doesn't pull her routine with that nurse either."

"That nurse thinks she's stealing morphine." Reeve replied doubtfully, aware of the suspicions against the martial artist; the way that the nurse in question's glance would inevitably track toward Tifa's temporary lodging whenever the count came up short. He apparently assumed her attitude toward the nurse in question was based on that.

"That has nothing to do with it." He explained, shaking his head. Granted, it might have had _something _to do with Tifa's general bad spirits, especially toward that particular nurse, who, despite her nametag, was referred to as 'Marx' by Tifa and Barret. But he knew there was more to it than just crankiness and Soldier's Disease gnawing at her. "You never saw active duty, did you?"

"Hm?" The smaller man asked, a bit thrown by the question. Sometimes following Rude's train of thought could be a bit trying, if you weren't paying close enough attention to the conversation.

"Wartime." He elaborated, offering a quick nod towards Barret's open door. The rebel leader gave a quick hail in return, distractedly, his attention fully on the little girl chatting away at his bedside. He had actually figured Barret would have ended up much in the same frame of mind as Tifa. And the first few days, it seemed likely. He was taking it all very hard. He had lost a few more inches off of his right arm. The arm ended in a stump just above where his elbow had been. The crash had messed his artificial arm up bad; jammed some of the mechanisms up into the living tissue. And the loss of Cloud had gouged at him rather deeply as well. The man may never have admitted it to anyone, not even himself, but he had respected the swordsman. He'd cared about him in some fashion, despite all their disagreements.

But then, Elmyra had come in. Reeve had given her word about what had happened to her daughter's associates, and not an hour after the call, she had come in, a far too shy little girl trailing along after her. Laying eyes on her was all it took to keep every ugly thought in Barret's head at bay. They knew how much Marlene meant to him. Hell, it had been one of the main reasons they had taken her as a hostage those few months back. For Barret, that little girl seemed to be the only thing that kept him sane.

Kept him human.

"Ah, no. I was high in the ranks of the Urban Development department when the last war broke out." Reeve explained, not sure what the other man was getting at.

It didn't much surprise him. Had Reeve ever seen the cold realities of war, he might have understood. Rude certainly did. He'd spent a year and a half in a POW camp, he and the other prisoners mistreated and sometimes tortured by their Wutaian captors. After being liberated, he'd been transferred to a hospital on the upper plate, along with other camp prisoners, and people that had been wounded gravely enough to be laid up far away from the front lines. What he'd seen there, what he'd _heard_ there…..

On a larger scale, it was all very much the same as he was seeing now. Reeve wouldn't, _couldn't_, understand it, since he'd never had to experience it.

"This was a war for them. And the fighting's ended suddenly. Couple that with everything else, and you can't expect them to be happy."

"Everything else?"

God, just how _dense_ could the man actually be?

"Two of their friends just died. There's going to be depression. Survivor's guilt, rehabilitation for their injuries, possible post-traumatic issues. They're going to have to part ways and try and readjust to a 'normal' life, and as Tifa pointed out, public opinion of them isn't exactly stellar. They've had no time to recover, and they're just going to be shoved back into the world and expected to get back with the swing of things. There's far more to it, but those are some of the more basic problems."

He had faced some of those problems himself, but hadn't had long to dwell on them. Two days out of the camp, and he had been approached by the President himself. He'd been expecting to be the target of some soulless PR scheme; raise public opinion by going in and tossing a medal and some cheap showy words to a wounded veteran, and oh! What a kind, caring man that President of ours is. But Shinra had given him an offer. They'd repair his shattered, shot-out kneecap, as long as he agreed to take a position within the company.

Not so much to ask, right? The pay was good, and the war hadn't been any kinder to the rest of his family. So _somebody_ had to take care of what was left of them, since his father and brothers had all died in the failed campaign to storm Wutai's eastern shoreline.

After everything that had happened, he'd changed. And maybe not for the better. How would the members of AVALANCHE fare? There'd be regrets; bitterness, anger, remorse…..

And it looked like Reeve wanted to herd them all up, scoop them into his arms and try and make everything _okay_, even though such a feat seemed far beyond the man's grasp. Too many ideals and good intentions. It never quite held up in the real world.

But the executive still fretted and fussed, trying to keep everyone placated, doing everything and anything in his power to see that his friends were taken care of. Since pulling them from the wreckage, he had conversed with each of them at least once a day; moreso with Yuffie, Cid and Nanaki. Barret hadn't been very coherent for the first few days, and Tifa, since regaining consciousness, had been rather reticent to speak with him. He was trying to come up with something, and Rude wasn't sure he liked it.

Certainly, Reeve _meant_ well, but if he was trying to keep them all together as a group, to try and find a way to minimize their problems, he was probably going to end up sorely disappointed.

A door to their left opened, and they paused mid-stride, seeing Cid standing there, cigarette dangling from his lips. He was dressed rather shabbily, in nothing but a pair of hospital-green scrub pants and a pair of slippers that Elena had all-too-willingly gotten for him at the market across town. Same with the cigarettes. Usually Cid had to track one of their 'babysitters' down if he wanted a smoke. His arms were bound from elbow to wrist in heavy plaster casts, the left one doodled on by Yuffie, and most of his fingers had been taped into thick metal splints. He had lost his right thumb at the second knuckle, and had morosely joked that he only talked to Reno because the redhead would light his smokes for him.

"Smoke break?" Reeve inquired lightly, and Cid just nodded in return. The executive stopped and fished a lighter from his pocket, nodding toward the stairwell. Cid had to leave the building to smoke, and that entailed having to head down two flights of stairs and go halfway around the building to get out the back entrance. It seemed less likely that somebody would spot him. Would recognize him as Cid Highwind.

Rude made no move to follow, sparing a nod to the other men as they departed, striking up a conversation almost immediately. By the way their heads were bowed close together, he figured it had to do with Tifa's decision about Cloud and Vincent. Or with Tifa in general. In the days before Tifa had woken up, Cid had hovered around the martial artist's off-limits room, asking so many questions, demanding to see her. It had begun to annoy them. When they had spoken over Cait Sith's comm. link, one of the things he had mentioned specifically was his concerns over the martial artist's condition.

Chivalry. Tifa and Yuffie could hold their own. The men on the team all knew that, but at the same time, they were very protective of those two.

There was a jingling sound, a clicking, nails across the smooth tile floor. Rude glanced up, seeing Nanaki padding along slowly, still heavily favoring his left hind leg. His once matted and bloodied fur had been washed, giving off a warm, orangey sheen in the harsh hospital lights. All of the trinkets had been removed from his mane, cleaned and then replaced, the baubles on his headdress clinking and jangling as he limped along.

The beast's blazing tail was some cause for concern among the staff. They feared that if he came too close to a room where oxygen tanks were in use…..

Respecting that fear, Nanaki had stayed away from the ward for the most part, limping down the hall only if he was given an okay from one of the nurses. Given that, he had seen Reeve and the Turks far more than he had seen his friends, though he did not seem to hold any distaste in talking with them, as some of the others did.

"Hello Rude." He nodded, coming to a stop near him, cocking his head up to look at him. He merely nodded in greeting at the beast, still unnerved by the fact that something like him could be so….. human.

He remembered the years that Nanaki had been kept as a specimen in Hojo's lab. Nanaki had never spoken, never showed any signs of his true intelligence. At most he had paced and keened, like a kicked dog, staring out at passersby on the other side of his tank, knowing that most of them wouldn't even spare him a second glance.

Times they had been called up to the lab, Valley Crawford would often sneak bits of food up with her, tucking anything from a few bits of candy to a half of a grilled pita with tomato into the inside pocket of her blazer. She would mill around the tank, waiting for a moment when Hojo would leave the room, and then hurriedly pull the napkin-wrapped parcel out of her coat and slide it through the food slot, smiling a little as he gulped it down, tail wagging. She would also talk to him, never for long, usually just a few words as she watched him eat what she had brought for him.

They had all thought Valley was being nice, bringing 'Red XIII' snacks, because she viewed him as some kind of pet; like a friend's dog that she always had to pat on the head when she saw it. But maybe she knew what Nanaki was capable of. Hell, maybe she had known Nanaki personally. After all, she had grown up in the Canyon. Maybe she had seen the guardian around, before Shinra had taken him away.

Certainly, when Valley stopped coming up to the lab, Nanaki had seemed agitated, pacing the tank and looking around with his nose pressed to the glass. When Reno had mentioned her having 'blown her brains out', there had been a low whine from the tank. But he hadn't thought anything of it, figuring that the animal didn't understand.

But looking back on it, Nanaki had understood about Valley's death, and was most likely hurt; upset by hearing of it. And not just because nobody else would bring him scraps of food. He held far more respect for human life than most humans did.

He would be okay. He had a more esoteric view on the world. He seemed to understand things about life, death, and the Planet that was beyond the grasp of the others. Maybe because he _wasn't_ human. He had above-human intelligence, human emotion, but at the same time, he'd been raised a warrior. His species had a different perspective. _He_ had a different perspective.

"What's the decision?" He asked finally, causing Rude to nod back down the hall, lips in a thin line.

"She wants them cremated. Says she'll take care of it after that. Doubt everyone will be thrilled with the decision."

But Nanaki just shook his head, mouth twisting in what probably passed for a smile.

"Perhaps not to the others. Warriors in the Canyon were customarily honored without burial rights. They were cremated using a pyre kindled from the eternal flame, and their ashes were later scattered in the canyon. It is considered….. distasteful in my culture to be interred in the ground like so many of you are fond of doing. Their spirits have returned to the Planet. The _body_ is rather inconsequential."

Creepy.

"That's what she said, basically. About their bodies."

Thousands of years ago, people of the Canyon were buried, but our enemies of the Gi clan, they would disturb the graves. Very disrespectful to our people to be defaced after death. We were….. _are_ a proud people, even if the Canyon has fallen to the wayside of non-violence and reliance on a guardian."

Rude didn't make any outward acknowledgement of Nanaki's explanation, but inwardly, he was surprised. A little unsettled. He'd cremated bodies himself, hauled them into incinerators; all in a day's work. It was to get _rid_ of the bodies, make them just disappear. If there was no body, there was no _proof_. Their reasoning _bothered_ him. He remembered the letter he'd gotten while running classified documents for the Shinra-Allied forces during the war. It had been handed to him while he pored over encrypted documents, a seal from the Ninety-Second division emblazoned on the flap.

It had been about his older brother, Aman, _regretfully_ informing him that on the second of January, he had been killed in a battle on the Eastern Coast of Wutai. They couldn't give him any more information about the nature of the incident. But he remembered how sick he felt at the fact that there was _nothing_ of his brother to bury.

For a while, he'd hoped that the lack of a body meant that they were wrong, that Aman was still out there, possibly in a prison camp, or having defected….. anything. But as he later found out, there wasn't any body because there was hardly anything left in tact after tank treads had passed over it.

It seemed wrong, the tombstone with no body under it. And cremation? He saw it as a way to just….. sweep something under the rug.

But maybe that's what they wanted now. To slink away into obscurity. To hide. To have people _forget_ about the terrible things AVALANCHE had done, no matter how good their intentions had been. Did they want people to forget?

Did Strife and Valentine have any family members that would remember them anyway? Doubtful. All of the AVALANCHE members had lost _something_ to Shinra. Yuffie's country had lost power, Highwind had lost his dream. The others had lost family, friends, practically their entire _lives_.

They hadn't found any living relatives in either Cloud or Vincent's files during numerous data checks against the rebels. Maybe there was nobody left to remember them. Nobody outside of AVALANCHE; aside from himself and the other Turks. But that had been a relationship of grudging respect, and a gnawing desire to get the rebels under their heels even _once_.

Ugh. Trying to rationalize it was giving him a headache.

"Speaking of the Canyon," Nanaki began as they slowly walked back the way Rude had come, his good eye focused on the Turk as they moved "I will have to be leaving soon."

"Leaving? Do the others know?"

He sighed, shaking his head.

"We will all have to separate at some time. I gave my word I would aid them until the end of their quest, but then I was to return to my duties within the Canyon. They need me."

"And your friends don't?" He mused, noticing the way Nanaki paused, inclining his head. He slowed his steps as well, glancing back down at the beast, almost challenging him to make a remark about the statement. It almost seemed foolish for him to pose such a question. It didn't matter to _him_ what Nanaki chose to do.

But it probably mattered to the other rebels.

Nanaki's lip curled in an odd sneer again, an attempt at what he could guess was a small, understanding smile. The gold eye focused on him softened.

"You've faced a situation similar to this, then?" He guessed, and Rude merely nodded stiffly in reply, not having much of a mind to discuss it. The beast nodded, before resuming his swaying limp down the hall. "I'm sorry."

Sorry? Nanaki felt _sorry_ because he understood their situation? He couldn't remember the last time anyone had felt sorry for him. He couldn't remember the last time _he_ had felt sorry for anyone.

Ugh. He needed a smoke something _awful_. Hanging around this ward was starting to chew on his last nerves. Up ahead, Nanaki slipped into Yuffie's open doorway, tail flicking side to side. He didn't spare a look into the room as he passed, it, concentrating on digging his lighter out of his pocket.

Stepping past another open door, he stopped, hearing a low, tired voice call for him. Looking to his left, he saw Tifa sitting up, bandaged arm lying heavily in her lap, like some dead thing. She was picking at her stitches again, hand thankfully blocking her left eye from his sight.

"Yeah?" He asked dryly, ducking into the room.

"Can you help me to the bathroom?" She asked tiredly, looking a bit pale and sickly. The irritation that she had displayed with Reeve was gone, replaced with a humble need, reminding him how _young_ she actually was. Much like Cid and his cigarette breaks, Tifa would ask one of the Turks to help her up if she needed to go to the bathroom. It seemed the least they could do, afford her to keep a shred of dignity rather than have to use a bedpan.

Though, he wasn't sure how much of this was an act. He figured she might be able to get up on her own, especially given that one nurse's suspicions about the Morphine. There was also nothing wrong with her legs, unlike Yuffie's situation.

But, he still agreed to help her, helping her climb out of the hospital bed, pointedly looking away as her gown rode up to her waist from her careful shifting around to try and get up without putting any pressure on her arm or side.

He also chose to pretend not to notice when a half-emptied plastic blister pack, the kind that kept doses of pills encased, fell onto the floor from beneath her pillow as she sat up. One dose was gone, but he knew what those pills were. He'd had enough of them tossed down his throat in the war hospital.

Morphine, of course.

Tifa pointedly kept from looking at them as well, stiffly holding to his jacket sleeve as they moved across the room.

As much as he didn't want to, he was sure he was going to end up feeling _sorry_ for her. For all of them. Because they understood now. They witnessed all the sick horror of war. And, scary as that was, the aftermath could be infinitely scarier.

…..He _really_ needed that smoke now.

* * *

Aw, Nanaki's planning to leave, and everybody's sad.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter five is here after a bit of a hiatus. Wasn't sure how to work this chapter, and I ended up rewriting it about a dozen times. It came out too long, but that's just how it ended up. Reeve is a very indecisive man. He needs to make up his mind before everything degenerates further. But he just can't figure out if his decision is going to be the right one for everybody. Or anybody.

"...and I thank you again for Wutai's aid in this matter. I'll speak to you again soon. Yes. Good-bye."

He sighed, snapping his phone shut, pinching tiredly at the bridge of his nose.

Things were getting almost too overwhelming, having to run back and forth between Kalm and the shantytown set up for refugees outside of the remains of Midgar. Everybody wanted answers, and try as he might, he didn't have _all_ the answers to their problems. Not immediate ones. And there were just some questions he couldn't bring himself to own up to.

What of AVALANCHE?

AVALANCHE?

AVALANCHE?

At least he had managed to track down Domino and Hart, get them in to help him. The mayor had never been anything more than a lame duck figurehead. But he was still a boon. Kept the people of the slums copasetic while the executive scrambled to keep the relief effort going along smoothly.

He'd been going back and forth with Junon, Costa del Sol, Rocket Town, even Wutai, any country with even a semblance of a decent economy. They needed food, supplies- both medical and basic necessities, and they needed personnel to help with tending to the sick and wounded, and to help him begin with the arduous process of rebuilding so all the displaced masses would have a place to live.

And maybe if he got things going along at a steady clip, people would be too preoccupied to badger him for information on the status of AVALANCHE.

He didn't know how much longer he could keep the charade up. People didn't know. Shinra had kept information under wraps about Sephiroth, about the Meteor, about AVALANCHE's true involvement in affairs. Did he dare tell them? Should he try to reveal the truth about them? About Cait Sith? About Shinra?

The people of Midgar, Hell the whole world, had been lied to and subjugated long enough. Shinra had built and maintained itself on deception. Subjugation.

Lies.

But he didn't know if he should tell them the truth. If he _could_.

They'd probably tear him apart. He was all that was left of the old regime. The people wanted someone to blame. And Sephiroth was gone. Dead...

And he wasn't going to give them AVALANCHE.

He'd _let_ the masses tear him limb from limb before he gave them up.

He'd never really thought he'd be in this position. Never wanted to be. For all he'd despised Shinra's underhanded methods, lying and deceiving had been his whole M.O., even before he'd infiltrated AVALANCHE. He _was_ a businessman after all.

Even so, he was probably the only man for the job. He had the strength, the ties to the old regime, the resources. He could get the funds if he needed to.

After all, his deception had run both ways for a while. And he doubted Rufus and the others would be able to raise a fuss from beyond the grave if he started funneling old resources into rebuilding.

At least they had the Head of Urban Development at the helm now.

At least they had someone who gave a damn to _try_ and rebuild.

He made his way down the hall, coming opposite of one of the nurses pushing along a trolley of medical supplies. She stared at him over the blackened, bandaged bridge of her nose, scowling heavily. The look didn't suit her young, freckled face. But he was used to seeing that look, at least in passing, from all the nurses. Hell, he was surprised if any of them except for 'Marx' _didn't_ glower or mutter at him as he passed.

To them, he was just as bad as AVALANCHE was. He'd brought them here. _Forced_ them to tend to the rebels' wounds. Swore them to secrecy with underhanded means.

After all, he'd explained, with the state of the world as it was now, stable jobs may become rather difficult to come by.

Underhanded and nasty again, he knew. But he couldn't help it. AVALANCHE had done their part to save the world, and people didn't know.

People _hated_ them for it.

Of course, Julia, the nurse he had just passed, may have had good reason to dislike them. She had gotten in Barret's face, sneered and called him a monster about what AVALANCHE had done in Midgar. Spit out all the same statistics that Shinra had been shoving at the people from the beginning.

Barret had been scrambled in the head ever since the Highwind crash, and he had a guilt complex over his deeds that went far beyond his gruff exterior. He was hurting; bad. He didn't want to fight anymore, didn't want to try to justify himself to someone that wouldn't face the truth. But even he had his limits.

Marlene's presence, and the timely intervention of the Turks, was the only thing that had saved Julia from worse than just a broken nose. Last he had seen, she had been stalking from the room, hand cupped to her bleeding nose, while Reno walked alongside her, mumbling lowly. He had heard the redhead murmur something about Sector Seven. He had seen the way her eyes grew wide as dinner plates, and after that, she had never harassed Barret again.

Never even came by his room.

He almost felt bad, playing this game. Threatening to have them shit-canned and blacklisted if they blabbed about AVALANCHE to anyone.

But, desperate times...

Besides, they were his friends.

No. Not _his_ friends. Hell, they were barely even Cait Sith's friends. Even if that cat-and-mog duo _had_ just been a front, Shinra's means of getting inside information on AVALANCHE, Reeve had given him his own personality. Sure, he himself was a gambler, a fortune-teller, but Cait was a whole 'nother take on it. Cait Sith was like a separate person entirely. And they knew Cait. They didn't know _him_.

But he knew them. He'd seen them through thick and thin, bad times and worse. He'd comforted and cried with the others when Aerith died. He'd aided them in one fight after another. And even though he'd betrayed their trust, he had come to them when they'd needed it the most, orchestrating Barret and Tifa's escape from the Junon gas chamber.

And he wanted to help them again _now_, show them that not everybody in the world was against him. He may not have been Cait Sith, but at heart, he was still on their side.

He just hoped they knew that.

He glanced toward the open door to his left, hearing Marlene's voice wafting out into the hallway. She was a sweet girl, bright and inquisitive. He'd taken quite a liking to her when she and Elmyra had been captives of Shinra in their ploy against the rebels, and it was obvious that Tifa and Barret loved her to death.

She seemed to bring at least a little joy to all of them. She'd liked Nanaki while he had still been among them, and struck up conversation with Cid and Yuffie eagerly. The only painful thing was that she kept asking about Cloud. She'd never known Vincent.

They'd explained it as gingerly as possible. The child understood death. He could still remember her sobs when he had gone to Elmyra's home, as Reeve, not Cait Sith, and told them about Aerith's death.

And she had cried again, hearing of their dead comrades. Only, it hadn't been as hard for her. Yes, she was saddened, and realized that it hurt her father and his friends deeply, but she didn't know Cloud as they had. Hadn't seen him straighten his mind out, emerge from that emotionless persona he had constructed for himself.

She would grow up and move on from the hurt, maybe forget about Cloud, unless she came upon an old picture of her father's; relegate him to a hazy memory in the back of her mind. But for the rest of them, Cloud and Vincent's deaths would be much harder to move past. They hadn't even died in battle. They'd perished afterwards, by some freak chance.

It wasn't fair. It never was.

He chanced a peek into the room, seeing Marlene sitting Indian-style on Tifa's bed, the martial artist sitting in a similar fashion, still wearing one of the paper-thin hospital gowns, bandaged arm sitting in her lap. There was a beat-up canvas rucksack between them, and the little girl was digging elbow deep through the contents.

He noted grimly that there were two other packs on the ground by her bedside table, Vincent's gun and bronze gauntlet set beside the left one. The Turks had scavenged through the crash site for their belongings, found their traveling packs, which for most of them, contained their only real belongings. Nanaki had been given his before he left for Cosmo Canyon early that morning. The others had all gotten theirs. Reeve hadn't gone through Cait Sith's bag yet, and he didn't know when he'd actually get around to it. It looked like Cloud and Vincent's bags had been left in Tifa's possession.

Strong girl.

"Look at all these flowers!" Marlene murmured in surprise, pulling a handful of lilies and roses from within the depths of the pack, the whole bunch wrapped safely in a length of pink cloth. They had probably been in the bag for some time, but they were in perfect shape, the delicate blossoms still bright and supple, not dried and cracked as they should have been after so long.

The girl may not have noticed, too busy looking through the possessions, but _he_ definitely noticed the wounded cringe that passed over Tifa's features, the way she squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away; swallowing harshly as she struggled for a brief moment to keep herself composed.

He hovered at the doorway, swallowing hard himself as Marlene pulled out a candy dispenser shaped like a chocobo. Cait had picked that up at some chintzy little shop in Wutai. Terrible likeness of the bird, near perfect likeness of Cloud's ridiculous hair. He could remember inputting all of the cat's movements as it slunk around Cloud's shoulders, making terrible jokes, and popping candies into the blonde's mouth every time he'd opened it to protest.

It hurt, way down in his chest, to think about things like that.

Much too raw.

Had it really only been a week?

It seemed longer than that. Much, much longer.

He sighed and spun out of the doorway, back bumping against the wall, and he dropped his gaze to stare at his shoes, mind and vision swimming. This was no good. Everyone seemed so much more _justified_ in their grief.

He felt like such a liar, grieving with them when he had never really _been_ there. The others, they talked about Cait Sith sometimes, both the first and second robot. And Tseng had been kind enough to bring him the scrapped remains of the cat-bot, melted and charred away to its metal skeleton, Cid's haphazard wiring job and the bloodied PHS still attached to it. It was in his temporary lodgings, which in actuality was just one of the vacated rooms at the end of the hall, right next to Barret's room. He had too much of an attachment to it. It was his success, his brain-child; his pride and joy. He didn't have the heart to get rid of it, even though it was a charred husk of its former glory, stinking of charred foam rubber and synthetic materials. They hadn't brought back Chippy, which he was a bit disappointed about, to be honest. But, as Reno had so succinctly put it, the mog had been 'smashed to shit' in the crash. He felt badly that it had just been left there in the remains. Robot or not, he liked to think they had their own personalities, deep down.

To him, it was almost as if he was just leaving a body out in the open to rot. There was no indication when, if ever, the twisted carcass of the airship would be taken care of. It was in a remote area, and there were far more...pressing matters to attend to now.

"Mr. Executive?"

Reeve snapped out of his morbid musings at the voice, and turned to see the red-headed nurse, 'Marx', regarding him coolly, a clipboard clutches under her right arm. He wasn't sure he exactly liked her tone of voice, and steeled himself for whatever possible rants she could open up on him.

"Yes... erm, Marx?" He responded uncertainly, unsure of how to address the woman. 'Marx' couldn't be her real name, unless it was a surname. But that was the only name he had heard her called by, by Tifa and Barret. From what Elena had told him, she had practically threatened the rest of the staff when the rebels had been brought in, needing emergency care. Many of the nurses initially refused to lay a finger on them, but 'Marx' had stepped up, throwing her weight around and _forcing_ them to do their jobs. It hadn't won the woman much favor with the others on the staff, but she just brushed it off brusquely.

Thick-skinned broad. He respected that.

She chuckled lightly and approached him, tapping the clipboard against her hip. She picked an errant strand of hair from her impeccably starched uniform before straightening and clearing her throat. She was taller than him, thickly built and she had tiny crow's feet straggling from the outer corners of her eyes. A few errant strands of silver hair were flecked through the red, which was pulled back in a neat bun, the waves and curls pinned firmly into the updo. Her hair was nothing like the brilliant shade of Reno's hair, it was more of a washed-out shade of orange-red. Overall, a rather plain and unremarkable woman. She didn't seem the type to have an association with AVALANCHE.

Of course, those were exactly the type of associates the rebels needed. Somebody who wouldn't bring attention to themselves.

"Really now, 'Marx' is just a... well, like a code-name I suppose. Our network had them because they didn't want to possibly give the authorities a lead on who was aiding them. Conspiring against the government _is_ an act of treason, as we both know." She juggled the clipboard to her other hand before thrusting out her right hand towards him "Janice Talbot. I'd prefer if you didn't call me Jan."

"Pleased to meet you." He responded amicably, meeting her outstretched hand with his own. "I'm-"

She nodded before he could get it out, nearly crushing his hand in her firm shake. He didn't _think_ he winced at the unexpected twinge of pain.

"Yes, yes, Reeve Tuetsi. Wouldn't be a very fine conspirator if I didn't know my regime figureheads, now would I, Mr. Executive?"

"I suppose not." He agreed, grimacing a little as he pulled from her hard grip, trying not to shake away the pain too obviously. "And I'll agree to not call you Jan if you agree to not call me 'Mr. Executive'."

"What can I say?" She shrugged loftily "I've been following the news reports, 'Shinra Executive' and your name are tossed together rather cozily."

"I wish it weren't. Shinra's dead." He replied.

Mm. What a loaded statement _that_ was.

"Finally." Janice snubbed, wrinkling her nose a little in a piggish fashion. She shook it off after a second though, and straightened back to her professional demeanor. "Anyhow, I wanted to speak to you because your friends, Mr. Strife and Mr. Valentine that is, are going to be cremated in the morning, and I thought you would want to pay your final respects to them before then."

Friends...

He nodded slowly, frowning.

It all seemed so informal. But Tifa had adamantly refused the idea of a funeral service, and, much as he disliked it, he now had to agree with her. They probably shouldn't go out in the open like that. And he had no idea where either man would have wanted to been buried, _if_ they had even wanted to be buried. After all, both of them had been rather enigmatic. He could figure where Cloud may have wanted to be put to rest, but as for Vincent, he doubted that any of them knew for certain.

Speaking about his past, it was as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. And obviously, he had good reason to despise it. He was a changed man from what he had once been, Hell, he had _monsters_ lurking within him, what could have possibly been some sort of super-human abilities. He was a man out of his time, and what he didn't make known to the others was probably never going to be known now.

"Thank you." He nodded finally, looking anywhere but at her.

"Just let me know when you'd like to go see them. I'll escort you down to the morgue when you're ready. I'm on the night shift tonight, so I'll be-"

"Actually," He interrupted, finally meeting her gaze again "If it's no trouble, would you be able to take me down there now? I've got a lot of matters to attend to in the morning, and I need to catch some shut-eye."

Understatement of the year, right there. He felt like he could sleep for _years_, given the chance.

Janice seemed to mentally come to the same conclusion, and smiled wryly.

"You've barely slept a wink in the whole time I've seen you here. Tough as it must be on you, I have to say, it's...refreshing to see a new way take hold. Tifa and Barret have spoken rather highly of you and your commitment to the life of the Planet."

They fell in step together, heading along the path that Reeve had been trailing down before getting sidetracked, and he sighed, shaking his head. It came as a bit of a shock to hear that Tifa and Barret actually thought something of him. If he were in their positions, he doubted he'd feel anything but ill will toward himself.

"At least others have faith in me. I'm playing this all by ear. I came up with so, so many contingency plans for possible problems if the Planet survived the Meteor, but enacting those plans is an entirely different matter. I don't know how long I can keep everything under control. And I'm no leader. Everything's in chaos, and I doubt I have what it takes to keep the people in line. The regime crumbled, and the people are going to get restless and resort to lawlessness and anarchy if a stable institution doesn't take hold." He pinched at the bridge of his nose again, and squeezed his eyes shut, the exhaustion creeping closer as he mulled over the unpleasant facts. "Aaaaaand, there's the little matter of my secret double-life as a member of AVALANCHE. They'll rip me to pieces if word spreads about my work as Cait Sith. I... honestly have no idea how I've managed to keep things going for _this_ long. I'll be fucked once the shock wears off."

One firm, meaty palm clapped down on his shoulder, squeezing lightly, and Janice gave him a stern look.

"The news reports have been favorable. And I've seen you in action when you were behind Cait Sith. You've got plenty of charisma, and plenty of underhanded schemes swimming around in that head of yours. Right now, people are anxious for any kind of leadership, and as long as you keep it tight, and don't resort to Shinra's old ways, there probably isn't much worry about a coup. Besides, the Turks are still with you, they're mean motherfuckers, I'll give them that. It'll help. You've always been billed as a man of the people in Midgar, so now's your chance to prove it. You'll be fine as long as you're honest. Well, mostly honest, anyway. Can't lay _all_ your cards on the table."

He looked at her, shocked at her words of support. If anything, he figured she'd hold him in contempt for his work with Shinra.

"I-" he floundered for words, and finally managed to spit out the first thing that crossed his mind "Wait, when did you meet Cait Sith? I've never seen you before."

She dropped her hand from his shoulder and chuckled lightly.

"When a few of you had infections from poorly treated wounds and didn't have any antibiotics. I was contacted and made my way out to meet up and check the damage. I had to wear that ridiculous get-up to avoid showing off any recognizable features."

He remembered now, the fully cloaked figure. Wearing male clothing. Wide trousers, heavy boots, a trench coat, scarf, gloves, hat, as well as a ski mask and glasses, she had indeed been an enigma. He had observed his recordings of that encounter probably hundreds of times, trying to find anything he could that he could turn over to Rufus. They had always assumed the mystery associate to have been male, due mostly on the build of them, and the voice, which had been gruff and low, obviously as a result of some form of modulation.

"Brave woman. I spent quite a lot of time trying to figure out who you could have been. Any of you that ever made an appearance did an impressive job of hiding your tracks." He admitted, rather impressed with how complexly structured the underground associations that AVALANCHE held really was. "How long had you helped them for?"

"Since the start. I worked as a nurse in Midgar before I moved out here. Five years ago, Tifa ended up as a patient in the hospital. Badly burned forearms, horrible wound across her chest, she was comatose for some time. I was in her room when she came to, and when she was recovered a little, we got to talking. She told me about what happened in Nibelheim, what had happened to everyone she had known. I was horrified. The whole incident was covered up by the government. I had never much cared for the government before, I'd been a triage nurse during the war, and that certainly hadn't raised my opinion any, but that was the turning point.

"I offered to take her in, but she felt it was too risky. She moved to the Slums when she was well enough, wanting to hide; disappear. That's when our 'code-names' took hold. I funneled money to her, both of us using assumed names. Over time, once she teamed up with Barret and the others, I became their medic, of sorts. Any bad injuries, and I would go to them and patch them up. When things started getting hairy, Barret told me that I should get out of Midgar, in anything happened. I didn't listen, figured that if I _did_, it would be suspicious. When the support of Sector Seven was destroyed, I was at a medical conference in Rocket Town. I came back and my home and the hospital, Hell _everything_ was destroyed. I moved to Kalm, stayed with my sister for a while, and took my job here. I kept in touch with some of their other associates as discretely as possible, and that's that. Some of the others here probably realize I'm something to AVALANCHE now, but short-staffed as we are with so many resources going to the recovery effort, I don't think I'll have much trouble with anyone for now."

Well, it certainly explained why Barret, while still delirious, said he was glad to see she'd made it out of Midgar.

They walked the rest of the way to the morgue in silence, Reeve not completely sure he wanted to take one last look at them. He'd barely been able to look at them when he'd first found them; found Nanaki keening by Cloud's body, the beast shaking with fear, his one working eye squeezed shut against looking at his friend, who had died staring directly at him, head tilted completely _wrong_. Tifa had been curled up with Vincent, pale and blood-soaked, the tattered remains of the cape that hadn't been torn to bandages doing a poor job of covering the obviously gruesome remains. One eye had been half-open, seeming to follow the rescue crews around as they milled about the debris, almost accusing them for what happened.

The bodies had been down there for a little over a week. No more presentable, the decay setting in, despite the cold temperatures in the morgue. There were no morticians to make them more presentable. No real _reason_ to make them more presentable. It wouldn't be how he wanted to remember them, but if he looked at them now, he knew the sight of their corpses would be burned into his memory.

Janice tugged at the lanyard around her neck, pulling a keycard from where it was hidden against he chest, and swiped it through the reader, waiting for the access light to go on with a soft _ping_, before hitting the call button for the elevator. They stepped into the small lift, and Reeve stared ahead mutely as she hit the button for the basement, her idle foot tapping the only thing breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

He was suddenly uncomfortable to be in her presence. He wanted to ignore all this, wish he'd never met AVALANCHE or gotten mixed up with their group in the first place. He could remember, a number of times, wishing that President Shinra had picked somebody else, anybody else, for the job as a spy.

This was one of those times.

Hell, the past few _months_ had been one of those times.

She must have picked up on his agitation, because she looked over at him as the elevator slid to a stop, studying his pale face and shook her head lightly, sympathizing with him.

"Don't..." She shook it off momentarily, rethinking her choice of words "We're all broken as Hell over this. Maybe in different ways, but-"

"All of us?" He interrupted lowly, shooting her an incredulous look, like he couldn't understand what she was saying. "Who is 'all' of us?" The public wasn't cut up about it. The Turks certainly weren't, despite their... history with the rebels. The only people that did care were the remaining rebels.

And that was only what, half a dozen?

Pathetic way to end. Not a fair lot, for all they'd had to sacrifice; all they'd gone through.

"The people who cared about them." She nodded back, instantly. She didn't beat around the bush with the matter, reading between the lines of his question. "The people that know the truth."

He didn't answer, merely looking away like a scolded child. He was so intensely focusing on keeping his gaze off of her that he missed their destination by a few steps, still walking slowly as she stopped abruptly by a set of cold-looking double doors.

The metal was scuffed repeatedly from waist-high downward, despite the cool gleam that spoke of repeated attempts to clean away the unsightly marks. It spoke of the number of gurneys that had been wheeled into the foreboding looking room, everything within it having an unwelcome looking wash to it, from the unkind lighting and all the stainless steel.

There was a lone figure in there, standing by two covered gurneys, the bodies covered in crisp white sheets. It was Barret, the hulking figure standing there, shoulders sagging; defeated. As Reeve stared in at him through the doors, he let out a sigh, breath misting in the controlled climate.

"You can take as long as you like." Janice murmured quietly to him, hand on his shoulder, her mouth almost uncomfortably close to his ear.

"Okay." He replied distractedly, eyes focused on Barret, mind made up that he'd rather not intrude. He could wait, or come back some other time.

Or, Hell, he could just forget the whole thing altogether.

"He's been in there for a long time." She went on, leaning forward to scrutinize him too, appearing just in the edge of Reeve's peripheral vision. She frowned, clicking her tongue unhappily at the sight. "Might do him some good if he had somebody in there with him."

If he wanted somebody in there, they should just get Cid or Tifa. He'd gotten along with those two the best out of all that were left. Bar that; Tifa was his closest friend in the world. He was the slightest bit thankful that those two had both survived. They were all that was left of the original group. Would they have been able to go on if one had lost the other?

"We never really... We don't get along." He admitted, almost childishly. _You'd better watch my back to the end... partner_. That cold, unflinching look still bothered him to this day. He'd saved them to try and make it up to them. Provide some sort of penance, prove _something_ to them. He'd also handed the black materia over to them, but it hadn't been enough. It would never be enough.

"These days, you need all the friends you can get." She shrugged, earnest in her albeit cliché statement. Almost as soon as the line was out of her mouth, the hand was gone from his shoulder, and Janice was making her way back to the elevator, leaving him to continue staring at Barret, not all that convinced by her words.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there. Long enough, he supposed. More than long enough. Just staring through the slightly distorted plexiglass window, wondering if Barret could just stand in there all night, thinking about them, thinking _at_ them.

He probably could. Hell, knowing the other man like he did now, Barret was probably blaming himself.

He didn't look up as the elevator motor purred quietly, ignored the muted footsteps clomping toward him. Didn't even pay attention when they stopped right behind him. He could see a ghostly little reflection of the nurse behind him, but he looked past it, still contemplating the scene within the morgue, trying to decide if it was worth it.

"Sir?" She started crisply, though her hail was pointedly ignored, the executive making no move like he had even heard her rather shrill voice. She huffed and grabbed his elbow, letting out a small growl of frustration. "_Sir_! You can't be down here! This is a restricted area, and I have no idea how the likes of you got down here but you have to _leave_-"

Oh, that just...

"Nurse Talbot gave us permission to be down here." He answered back stiffly. "If you have a problem, take it up with _her_. And if you have a problem with _her_, I'll hear about it, and you'll be blacklisted the world over so fast you'll be broke and holding a gun to your head before you even know it."

The voice didn't even sound like his. Too low, too menacing. In the vague reflection, he could see the nurse flinch back, face twisting in some indistinguishable expression.

"I don't know who you-"

"I'm the man who's going to hold this world together." He replied simply, no longer dwelling on the insecurities he had expressed to Janice. He had to take charge. What would there be for AVALANCHE if he didn't set the record straight? The public despising them? Wanting to _kill_ them? Indecision or not, he wasn't going to just let it happen. "You leave him alone. Our friends are dead. I know you couldn't care, but we do. You leave him to mourn as long as he wants. All of you. He deserves that much."

Barret suddenly turned and looked, hearing the commotion the nurse had made as she stormed off, and he and Reeve locked gazes, just staring at each other, a dazed look to Barret's face, as if he couldn't comprehend the other man. His large left hand picked at the bandages covering the stub of his other arm uneasily, and his normally hard visage looked so old and vulnerable now.

Reeve half raised his hand, moving to push the door open; go in there and talk to him. After all, the other man knew he was there now, and the bleeding, wounded look in those brown eyes was almost too much for him.

But instead, he stopped, palm hovering inches from the door, brow crunched in contemplation. How hard was it, to just open the door and take a few steps to the other man?

No, he finally decided, hand falling back to his side, his gaze finally breaking away from Barret's. His fingers drummed against his palm, once, and he finally turned away, making his way back toward the elevator.

The others could all do this, but he couldn't.

Besides, he had work to do.

For their sakes.


	6. Chapter 6

His head was still pounding when he found Reeve. He hadn't been looking for the other man, just happened to find him in the room when he opened the door.

Marlene was tucked into the starched white sheets, sound asleep with the old tattered blanket that she had been swaddled in when he had found her in Corel all those years ago. Most people would think a girl her age would be getting too old for a 'blankie', but he hadn't been able to provide much for her in the way of material goods. That was one of the few things she still had, after their hideout, their _home_ had been destroyed in Sector Seven. He had tried to do his best for her. _God_, had he tried.

He didn't want her to remember how horrible the world could be. The world that took her parents away, drove her father mad, left her to be raised by a _murderer_.

He couldn't avoid the truth. He knew what he was; he admitted what he had done. He would face it all, so long as it kept her safe. He only hoped that she could understand.

That she would be able to forgive him when she learned what kind of a monster he really was.

He was no fool. She was young now, but she would find out someday. He had _so_ much blood on his hands. It was his fault things had escalated to this point. He thought he'd been doing the right thing when they'd started. Yes, Shinra was gone now, Sephiroth was dead, but were things really so much better? He didn't want Marlene to have to suffer anymore.

God, what a fool he'd been.

"Nobody bothered you, I hope."

He didn't even look up at the voice, just shaking his head as he stroked his hand over the light brown hair, before smoothing out the sheets a little. Her hair had gotten so long since he had last seen her in Midgar, all that time ago, when he had left her in Elmyra's care. The older woman's angry words still stung him. But she had had a daughter too, an adopted one, that was in danger just because of who she was as well. Surely, Elmyra could understand his plight. He had left Marlene in that house, promising they would get Aerith back from Shinra, and bring her home safe, once everything was over.

They hadn't even been able to do that.

"You didn't go see 'em." He replied, voice a hollow whisper in the dim room. Reeve rubbed at his eyes and stifled a yawn, smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he tried to shake himself out of his drowsiness.

"No." He offered, unapologetically, stretching his arms out in front of him, bending his spine cat-like and locking his elbows, fingers laced together. Sleeping in positions like that had never been too comfortable to Barret. Still beat bedding down against the ground though. "I really didn't want to have to see them like that."

"Almost gave me some closure." He replied stiffly, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the other man, hand still resting by Marlene's side, fingers twisting in the sheets agitatedly. He made no secret that he didn't care much for the executive. His grudge against all things Shinra was obvious, and despite Reeve's numerous attempts to make good for his previous misdeeds, Barret still couldn't find it in himself to trust him. After all he had experienced, he didn't think he could be comfortable around anybody stigmatized by an association with Shinra.

Reeve seemed to sense the animosity and shook his head, sighing.

"Maybe so, for you. It won't give me any comfort. It's different though. I was always watching you through monitors, listening over a headset and talking through a character. I honestly don't know any of you, really, and none of you know me. When I first started as Cait Sith, I didn't want to get to know you outside of what Shinra wanted me to find out. I figured the job wouldn't be so hard if I kept my distance. I'd never meet you in person, so what would be the problem, if I didn't look at you like real people? It helped that I didn't care for your guerrilla tactics in Midgar."

"Wasn't all of us that bombed Midgar. Jes' a couple. Ya got the rest of us."

"Yes, but it soured me to the character of anyone that would choose to associate with you, knowing of AVALANCHE's ...history."

Barret glared at him, turning, feeling the blood thrumming through the vein on the side of his forehead. It felt like a migraine was coming on, it had been happening on and off since the accident, and the nurses never gave him enough pain killers. He was in no mood to deal with this same old song and dance. Especially not now.

Especially not from him.

"If yer gonna say, then _say_ it." He spat, eyes narrowed as her turned away from Marlene to face the other man. He didn't like arguing about this. He _knew_ he was in the wrong, and didn't like trying to justify his actions, but at the same time...

Nobody else had been willing to step up. Nobody had been willing to oppose Shinra. He knew what the opposition would entail, what weight it would put on his shoulders, but he had still done it. _Somebody_ had to save the Planet.

The free-rider dilemma. George, one of his friends from his days as a miner had often talked politics while they were on lunch breaks. He'd been a professor of Political Science in the university just outside of Corel before Shinra had stopped aiding it and it had closed down. He hadn't been able to find another university job, not that he had really looked. His view of politics had put him at high risk of being labeled a dissenter by the Shinra. He had claimed that tedious, backbreaking labor, keeping your head down, was better than the risk of allowing yourself to be singled out by the government. But if enough people voiced their opposition, then more and more groups would join, fearing less risk of being individually targeted by the government.

Barret had chosen the opposite though. After Corel, he had decided that even if he was all by himself, he'd fight. He'd fight to the death, and damn the world if nobody else would join him.

"Fine. Knowing you were terrorists." Reeve elaborated, laying it right out in front of them.

For as long as they had known Cait Sith was really Reeve, the issue had been a solid wall between them. It was never brought up directly, but it was surely implied, and even a mention toward it could lead to bitter, raging arguments between the two of them, sometimes dragging the others into it as well. Some of the others couldn't understand the animosity that the discussions drudged up, and for the most part stayed out of it, unless they stepped in to break it up, but Tifa had interrupted a few times, screaming with uncharacteristic anger at the cat and nearly breaking into hysterics as she tried to explain why it _had_ to be done, what Shinra had cost all the people, and Cloud had expressed a range of emotions, ranging from indifference, to cool remorse, to almost manic spells, depending on his frame of mind at the time of the argument. After he had figured himself out, his opinion had been much more consistent, a mellow despondency over what had been done, though he felt there were more pressing matters. The death of Aerith, their quest to stop Sephiroth.

It had almost been disgusting sometimes, Cloud's near indifference to incidents that were peripheral to his goal of stopping Sephiroth. His grief had driven him to an almost obsessive state.

"Ya'll were killing the Planet, and smilin' about it the whole way. None of you gave a _damn_ about Sector Seven. Ya'll _laughed_ about getting' to raise taxes after it." He shot back flatly. "We were practically doin' you a favor."

"_I_ cared about Sector Seven!" Reeve protested, shaking his head. "You killed hundreds of people. I infiltrated your group because I thought it would put a stop to all the insanity."

"Insanity? Look, I know what we did might not a' been in the right. I know we killed people, an' the consequences of what we did. But if we wanna talk about insanity, how 'bout we talk about your company. You know about Nibelheim, don't ya? And Corel, and Gongaga. How 'bout keeping an alien lifeform in containment, human experiments, and engineering a biological super soldier? Wasn't us that started it."

Reeve looked away, blinking hard, his whole posture tense and defensive.

"Yes, I know about all of that. It doesn't mean-"

"Does the _public_?" Barret cut back in, finally turning away from Marlene, leaning on the railing along the side of the bed, folding his left arm across his chest, gripping at the bicep of his right arm.

For a man who admitted to a lack of formal education, and could be considered a zealot with a one-track mind to some, Barret was deceptively crafty. His understanding of Shinra's manipulations, and his resolve to fight it was what made him so dangerous. Some of the other executives had generally brushed him off as a lesser nuisance in the group, just some raging, bullheaded muscle-man that acted before he thought. He may not have been much of a strategist, not the most book smart, but he was fiercely loyal, and he wouldn't waver from his convictions that he was doing the right thing, at the cost of his own safety.

He loomed in the dim room, the light from the hallway giving his skin an almost inky looking sheen to it. He remembered Scarlet sneering that it was too hard to see him over Cait Sith's feed in the dark. Barret was a large, brick wall of a man, the constant scowl and scars and tattoos making him all the more imposing. Never mind that he had a good heart, a good soul. Shinra had painted him as a ruthless monster of a man. And seeing him lose his temper didn't help his image. He would sometimes find himself cowering slightly when the large man would start to shake with suppressed rage, even though Barret couldn't hurt him physically through the comm. link.

"You know that answer as well as I do." He sighed, but Barret shook his head, the scars on his face twisting as he scowled.

"None a' that pussyfooting Cait Sith bull." He ordered, features nearly indistinguishable in the poor lighting. But Reeve could imagine the look on his face, he'd heard the tone and seen the man's actions long enough to know them well. "Y' ain't Cait Sith now. Ya don't have to be. It's you an' me, face to face, so let's be straight with each other."

"They don't." He agreed, shaking his head. "Of course not. Why would Shinra tell them? But _I_ know the truth. I can do something."

Barret just laughed quietly, shaking his head.

"C'mon man, come off it. Ya can't help ev'rybody. Not even if you want to. We did our part to save the Planet, now it's in your hands. You try to let out the truth, people might not trust you. Throw you in with the rest of us. People are going to be gunning for us soon, once they figure out where they are, what you're doing. Somebody's got to keep this ship afloat."

"So what are you saying? I should just keep my mouth shut and let the whole world scream for your heads long after the day you all die?"

"Reeve, I figured it'd end up like this from the start. No matter what anybody says, our name's 'll never be more than shit after all a' Shinra's propaganda. I'm the monster that escaped his own execution while Shinra 'heroically defended Junon'."

"That's still..."

Barret dropped his hand away from the stump of his arm, staring down at the floor, just shaking his head slowly. His silence caused Reeve to trail off, just watching him, waiting for him to speak. When he finally did, his voice was so different from how Reeve had ever heard him sound. Just so... _devoid_ of all feeling.

"I'm gonna turn myself in." He finally admitted, gazing down at Marlene. "Take the blame, jes' be the scapegoat they always wanted me to be. It'll save all the trouble, maybe make things easier for everybody else. Make things easier for the future."

"What?" Reeve asked, nearly strangling on his own words. He couldn't believe it. Barret was the one always willing to fight, to defy. And now his plan was to just... give himself up, after everything was finished? "Barret... you have a daughter..."

"That supposed to absolve me?" He sneered churlishly, like it was the worst excuse the other man could muster. "'M sure we destroyed people's families in Midgar, even after that. Shouldn't be a factor. I don't deserve to have someone innocent as her anyway. Don't deserve to have her love me, after what I did. I-"

Reeve stood up from the chair, straightening up, though he was nowhere close to Barret's height.

"Will you listen to yourself?" He started incredulously, cutting the other man off for a change, not wanting to listen to his brooding nonsense anymore. "_Stop _with this guilt complex, _please_. I know you feel guilty about the loss of life, but you can't be taking the blame for everything. Shinra pushed, and you were one of the _only_ people that had the guts to push back. I can understand that you want to ensure that everything goes along swimmingly after all your sacrifices, but do _not_ talk about making some kind of martyr of yourself. Besides, I didn't pull all that double-agent stuff for months on end just to let people think that Shinra was oh-so-great, and that it's a horrible thing you brought them down. You did all that work to ensure a future for Marlene, so the least you can do is be a goddamn part of it."

He expected an argument, a fight, at least for Barret to haul off and knock him through a wall or something. But he just stared at his shoes, mulling over the words a little.

"Heh." He finally chuckled, a self-mocking little sound. "Thought you didn't like us. How come you're so sweet on us now?"

"I said I didn't like you at first. I had a change of heart, once I stopped burying my head in the sand."

Barret nodded, before reaching out the one massive hand, clapping it down on his shoulder, almost making Reeve buckle from the weight.

"Awright. I'll see what you can do. Jes'... do one thing for me?"

"Name it." Reeve nodded immediately, hoping he had talked some sense into the other man.

"People'll still hold a grudge, no matter what. If... if anything happens to me, take care of Marlene for me? She likes you, an' well..." he trailed off tiredly, not comfortable with the subject.

He wanted to say it wouldn't come to that. But he knew, in fact, that it was possible it _could_. And the others were just as at risk. And if his gamble played off poorly, even he might be a target. He didn't want it to happen though. The girl had already lost her birth father. She shouldn't lose a second one too.

"You have my word." He replied, glancing over at Marlene, who was still asleep, blissfully unaware of the entire conversation. "Besides, remember Junon. I gave my word I'd watch your back 'till the end, yeah?"

"Yeah... I miss 'em, you know?"

"I know."

"I said that after we saved the world, we'd go to Cosmo Canyon. Enjoy the world there, get away from everything so 'Shinra' about the world. Live in peace finally." He stopped for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. "Look what happened. Figures. I'm still not all right in the head after that crash. Worried I'm gonna forget 'em or something. Like I'm gonna forget their faces, or how their voices sounded or... like they'll just be gone from my mind one day."

"Even if you wanted to, I doubt you could forget Cloud. You two got into it all the time."

"Heh." Barret chuckled again, sadly "Yeah, never wanted to admit it, but I liked the punk. He knew how to get under my skin though. Think he had fun with it. I remember when we were still in Midgar, he was actin' like some big-time hotshot SOLDIER, an' he said he'd do the next job fer-"

Barret's reminiscing was cut off by the sound of the doors at the end of the hall banging open, along with the clatter of a phalanx of footsteps coming their way, while varying nurses shouted their dismayed orders for the intruder to stop.

Reeve looked to Barret, their eyes flashing in worry, and Barret felt his stomach curl into a tight little ball.

God, they'd found AVALANCHE. They were coming to lynch them, and they were practically defenseless.

Hell, if that was the case, he'd be ready for them. Better to go down fighting after all. And to _Hell_ with them if any of them tried to lay a hand on Marlene, he'd-

"Where _is_ she?!" A thick, heavily accented voice roared over the commotion, and Reeve exchanged a confused glance with him, making his way hesitantly toward the door.

However, he nearly collided with a bare-foot Elena who skidded around the doorframe full-bore, gripping both sides of it to brace herself, her eyes wide and dismayed, gaze shifting rapidly from the executive to the scene in the hallway. She looked like she had been asleep, eyes bleary and confused, her hair tousled from it's usual near coif. She didn't seem frightened or anything though. More... uncertain.

"Reeve, you gotta get your ass out here, _now_. We've got a problem."


	7. Chapter 7

A _problem_.

Funny little woman, Elena. As if a word as simple as 'problem' would be enough to encompass the latest thing to land in their laps. No. This….. this was a catastrophe.

And even that wouldn't cut it as an apt description.

A full out _panic_ situation might scratch the surface.

They rushed out into the hall, seeing Cid already out there, looking just as shocked and confused as they were, his mouth twisted into a scowl; pissed off. Though if it was due to being woken up so rudely by all the commotion, or the phalanx of body guards that were coming down the hall toward them, following the equally _pissed_ looking man creating the disturbance, he wasn't sure.

Turning to get a look at who the Hell was coming for them, Barret flung his left hand up to cover his face instinctively as the blinding chatter of flashbulbs assaulted them.

Oh _Jesus, _who had let the Press in here? No, no, no, no, no. They didn't need this. Not _now_.

Reeve looked around, half frantic, trying to find some sort of answer, but all he saw was Reno through the mess of tresspassers, giving him a look that indicated they were all just as blindsided by this as he was.

He ripped his gaze from Reno as a hand closed down on the front of his already rumpled suit, his hands reflexively coming up to grip at the wrist, eyes snapping up to meet those of the man leading the charge.

"Where _is_ she?" the intruder repeated, voice lower now, but still holding the same demand, the same anger.

Oh Jesus. This was his fault. He had told him that Yuffie was in Kalm, alive and recuperating after all the….. events that had transpired, and that when she was well enough, he would personally escort her back to Wutai. He had wanted to make a show of good faith, let her father know she was alive; safe. And he _needed_ Wutai's aid in the rebuilding effort around Midgar, and he believed that the knowledge that his daughter was taken care of would help the process.

Of course, he wasn't quite surprised that this as well had blown up in his face.

And with all the photographers…..

He wanted to demand an explanation for this behavior, berate him for doing such a thing with no warning, and bringing outside forces into a matter he wished to keep tightly under lock and key. But Godo was the emperor of a country, and what was he, other than a wishy-washy individual, run ragged by all the responsibilities that he had never wanted to have heaped upon him.

Instead of any rebuttal; any bravado, his mouth flopped open several times like a gaping fish, strangled, uncertain half-words stuttering from his lips as any response he tried to make died on his tongue.

He never _had_ been good at standing up to people in a higher position of power than him; never liked to be confrontational with them. He could run circles around those boneheaded nurses easily, flouting his old position in order to keep them in line, though dour as they were.

But Godo, on the other hand…..

Well, while Shinra was still around, the old man had been nothing more than a slight nuisance. A worthless, faded old figurehead, trying to uphold some air of regality, while his once powerful nation was transformed into little more than a quaint little tourist trap. There was no way he would _ever_ regain his power, with Shinra constantly keeping tabs on his every movement.

But with no Shinra, no _government_, maybe he saw this as his chance. Throw his weight around, intimidate the 'new' government before it had time to establish itself fully, and reassert Wutai as the global power it had once been. After all, he was a leader, he had an _organized_ country. He had been all too keen that Yuffie stay with AVALANCHE, once he had seen some of their materia.

And the reporters, the cameramen, would be getting this _entire_ exchange. It would probably be all over every country's news by the early evening, those areas that still received television signals. If not, those with radios would certainly hear of this confrontation. Newspapers, even word of mouth would spread like a plague. Not only would he be outed as harboring criminals against the laws he was trying to keep in place, but if he didn't _do_ something, he'd look spineless and inefficient against one of the world's only other established leaders, _and_ the masses he was trying to gain the trust of.

Not very leader-like if he just cowed out of every whiff of a conflict that confronted him. Especially since Godo's sudden _urge_ to reclaim his daughter had just sent all of his plans to keep AVALANCHE swept under the rug completely tits-up.

Clearing his throat and snapping his gaping mouth shut, Reeve composed himself, and grasped Godo's wrists, pointedly prying the other man's hands from his suit lapels. Godo allowed him to do so; if the Wutaian had objected to Reeve's movements, he would have probably had the executive laid out flat on the ground in a second.

"What are you _doing_?" He demanded lowly, leaning in close, his eyes never leaving the mess of reporters and photographers that mulled about eagerly behind the emperor's entourage, flashbulbs popping at anything and everything that might give a _glimpse _of the rebels. A reporter had her microphone practically jammed into Reno's mouth, firing questions a mile a minute, her tone demanding, rather than asking, that he tell them what he knew of Reeve's plans and the rebels, and even what part _he_ had in the whole affair.

Luckily, judging by the number of expletives spewing out of the redhead's mouth the entire interview would be rendered completely useless to any sort of news outlet, unless the continuous squeal of a censorship tone could be conveyed as any sort of information to anyone.

Godo, unfazed, merely glowered at Reeve, motioning for his personal guards to begin examining the surroundings for any sign of his daughter.

"You said my daughter was here. I have come to take her home to Wutai; away from all of _this_."

"All of _this_?!" Reeve repeated incredulously, eyes widening, unable to believe what he was hearing. "_This_ is happening because you brought them all traipsing right in here. Do you have any _idea_ what's going on? How big of a powder keg you've just set off?"

"It is of no concern to me. I only wish to bring Yuffie home, so that she will not become some pawn to you." He replied lowly, a hail from one of his guards causing him to turn and see the young Wutaian peering through the window of one of the shut doors, motioning for the emperor to come see what he had found.

"It might not concern _you_, but it concerns Yuffie. It concerns her _friends_. Do you realize what you've _done_?! They're _all_ targets. Even Yuffie, no matter how much security you can provide her in your own country. You think any of them are safe? Especially _now_; now that everyone is going to know _exactly_ where they are?!" Godo made no answer, essentially ignoring his tirade, and made his way toward the door that his guard had pushed open, his face determined. "Don't you get it?! Answer me!"

But Reeve's protests resounded impotently to the emperor, who walked into his daughter's temporary quarters without any further acknowledgement of the executive.

"What a fucking jerk." Elena muttered weakly from her spot by the door to Barret's room, her arms folded over her bust as she took in the whole scene of chaos, clicking her tongue distastefully. One of the photographers swung their camera lens in their general direction, shutter chattering away as he snapped picture after picture, all of which would contain Barret and Cid half-heartedly trying to hide their faces, knowing they'd already been recognized _and_ photographed, and some of which would, upon later inspection, contain the Turk making a distinctly obscene, _rude_ gesture, making at least a _few _of the snapshots completely useless. "We need to get those fuckers out of here."

She reached down to her wrist and thumbed the button on her wrist communicator agitatedly, sending out another general distress alert to Rude and Tseng, figuring they'd need the help of the other two to try and gain a semblance of control.

Those two had taken off only an hour or so ago, leaving Reno and Elena to hold the fort, so to speak. They'd said they were going to the diner across the street to grab something easier to stomach than the fare available to them in the hospital cafeteria, and then come back to catch some shut-eye in Reeve's makeshift room. The room had been made to house two patients at once, so when they'd bed down, they'd pull the curtains to get some privacy.

She had run to that room first once all the commotion had started, ripping down the curtains to tell them to get up and get the _Hell_ out there.

But both beds had been empty, meaning they were still out; and she had impatiently jammed on her signaler, getting more and more agitated by the second when they didn't appear.

Fucking _great_ timing all around. She didn't even have her _suit_ on. Of course, without her blazer on, she didn't even _try_ to be discrete about reaching up and thumbing the safety on the gun tucked into her shoulder holster.

Somebody was coming into her room. It was the wrong time for one of the nurses to be making the rounds, and there was far too much commotion outside the door for it to just be one of her friends or one of the Turks. She stiffened slightly, pretending to still be asleep, but her left hand was under her pillow, grasping at the throwing stars she had taken out of her pack. Her shuriken was too obvious, too large to try and conceal for any sort of defense, but she had kept a piece of materia with her at all times, just in case anything happened. An entire gauntletful was too obvious, but one hidden piece would make due in a pinch. Once her pack had been brought in by Tseng during the previous afternoon, she had dug out the stars, slipping them under her pillow, just in case she needed to defend herself. With her legs bound and useless, she wouldn't be able to maneuver too well; if at all, but the stars, like the materia, could buy her some time if somebody came after her; some random crazy with a bone to pick.

She had thought that maybe she was just being overly paranoid; on-edge because the other were all talking and acting like they were on dangerously thin ice at all times.

But right now, it seemed like all the paranoia that was rubbing off from the others wasn't so far-fetched after all.

The door banged open, and she immediately twisted, dropping her façade, and bringing her hand out from beneath her pillow, the metal stars having been filed down, dull-colored steel that wouldn't catch the light. Her eyes fixed on her target, wrist twisted back in preparation to heave the weapons at her intruder, but at the sight of him, she froze; the weapons slipping numbly from between her fingers, clattering quietly on the tile floor.

"…..Dad?" She sputtered in surprise, wishing that he voice hadn't come out so tiny and child-like. "W- what's going on? What the heck are you doing here?"

"I am here to take you home. We are going back to Wutai immediately. I will have no argument from you in the matter, as you've gotten caught up in enough trouble with these _criminals_ as it is. Now get up and grab whatever belongings you have. Our convoy is awaiting us outside of town."

She stared at him, dumbfounded, until she was able to gain a word edge-wise.

"Who the Hell are you to barge in here and tell me I have to leave?! I don't want to go, old man!" She snapped, face contorting angrily, spitting out the words insultingly. She knew Reeve had been in contact with her father, knew that he would want her to come back home. But he couldn't just up and snatch her away without even taking her opinion, her situation, into consideration.

Practically ignoring her, he made his way to her bed in two long strides, his hands clamping down on the siderail, glowering down at her, as if attempting to intimidate her into relenting.

"This is not open to discussion." He explained matter-of-factly. Now get up. We are leaving. Immediately."

Her lip curled back into a sneer, and she defiantly whipped her blankets away from her lap, revealing the casts that encircled her legs, eyes narrowed at him.

"I'm not going _anywhere_." She shot back challengingly. How _dare_ her father come in here and boss her around. She didn't want to go back to Wutai and be holed up in that palace, suffocated by his rules and his strict attempts to control her life. He couldn't tell her what to do. Couldn't _make_ her do anything now. She wanted to stay with her friends, not stifle away in their weak little town, every move she made shadowed by guards. Could he honestly _not_ realize that was why she had run off in the first place? "I'm staying here. I'm not going to just take off and let them get thrown to the wolves because of _you_, you pompous ass!"

"Look what they've _done_ to you!" He retorted, grabbing her by the upper arm. He looked around the dim room briefly, before his eyes lit upon the wheelchair folded up and resting against the wall, from where Tseng had left it when he had hoisted her into bed for the evening. "These people will be the death of you if stay here."

"These _people_?!" She half shrieked, trying to wrench her arm free. However, her position didn't afford for much leverage against him, and she struggled fruitlessly against his vice-like grip. Considering his age, and his declining health in the past few years, it sometimes took her by surprise how strong he still was. "They're my friends! This isn't their fault, and you can't blame them! Think that I got forced into this or something?! I went with them because I _wanted_ to! I wanted to get out of Wutai, and get away from _you_! I am _not_ going to go back!"

Godo held her gaze fiercely, not at all moved by her defiant words.

"As I said, this is not open to discussion." He turned to the guard by the door, and nodded to the wheelchair. Wordlessly, the young man went to it and popped it into position, releasing the wheel-locks, and moving it over to the bedside. Ignoring her protests, she was lifted from her bed and deposited none-too-gently into the thin, uncomfortable vinyl pad that made up the seat of the chair.

She was wheeled to the door, but attempted futilely to resist, bringing her arms out and bracing herself, straining against the force of the guard trying to push the chair out into the hall. He palms were clamped against the doorframe, arms locked, muscles in her arms locked in an attempt to keep herself stationary.

Wildly, she looked back and forth up and down the hall, seeing the members of the press at the far end, Reno attempting to throw them the Hell out of there, the scene partially blocked by a phalanx of guards, all in the garb of the Wutaian Royal Guardsmen. To her right, much closer, were Reeve, Barret and Cid, all staring at the scene helplessly, along with Elena, the petite blonde woman scowling and swearing under her breath as her thumb hammered away almost desperately on her wrist communicator.

Reeve locked eyes with her for a moment, silently pleading for her to understand; to forgive him for causing all this, unintended as it was. Cid and Barret just watched in utter confusion, just as blindsided as she was. They shifted uncomfortably and exchanged uncertain glances. They obviously wanted to intervene, but restrained themselves, knowing they wouldn't be able to dissuade Godo from his task at hand. They had overheard the entire conversation, and even though they hadn't understood a thing, neither of them knowing the Wutaian language, the argumentative fury, Godo's adamant tone, Yuffie's disagreeable retorts….. they understood perfectly what it was about.

It was about them. It was about getting her away from _them_.

"Why are you just _standing_ there?" She howled at them in the common tongue, pitch of her voice frantic as her biceps began to tremble and her grip began to give. "You can't let them do this! H-hey, come on! _Do_ something you guys!"

Barret looked away, almost ashamed, his jaw set in the same way she had seen a few times before. When he talked about the deceased members of AVALANCHE, any time they had ventured into Corel, when he'd found out Marlene had been taken hostage, when Aerith had died…..

There was no other visible sign of his agitation; his emotion, aside from the clench of his jaws, but having been around the older man for so long, she could pick up what it meant. By now, if they couldn't all read each other's little signs like a book, then what sort of relationship had they all had?

Cid stared back at her, just shaking his head; silently denying her pleas for help. He _wanted_ to do something. She knew for damn sure that he didn't just want to stand there gawking.

"Kid….. he's your dad." He finally sighed defeatedly, mouth twisting down. "It's….. it'll be safer."

Safer? Oh Jesus, how selfish _was_ she?

Sure, ending up back in Wutai would mean more security for herself in this whole maelstrom of backlash and uninformed hatred, but what about them? They didn't have a palace to be sequestered away in, no guards to watch their surroundings in case someone came after them.

All she had been worried about was having to go back, having to be separated from the only _real _friends she had. She hadn't even thought for a second about the real issue; the fact that she had a secure place; a defense against the world, while all they had was the flimsy little bit of protection that Reeve could try and give them.

"But what about you?" She squalled, gray eyes narrowing at the two men, her nails scrabbling against the wood of the doorframe. She winced slightly as some of the paint chipped off beneath her grip, stabbing into the soft part of the nail bed on her index finger.

Cid didn't even exchange a look with Barret this time, didn't hesitate.

"We'll be fine." He shrugged automatically, a bold faced lie if she had ever heard one.

The chair jolted beneath her, the guard having had enough of her protesting, and her hands were finally forced free from the doorframe, Yuffie biting back a shout of pain as two of the nails on her left hand were snapped off from the force of her grip being overpowered and the position her hands had been in when it happened.

She was wheeled into the hall, her hands balled in her lap, gripping at the pair of gray cotton shorts she was wearing, blood staining the fabric where her left hand was clenched.

She screeched wordlessly in protest and twisted around, looking over her shoulder as the guard immediately cut left, away from her friends, heading toward the mass of reporters, and the doors that led out of the wing.

They weren't even going to give her a minute with them. Weren't even going to let them have some privacy to say goodbye to each other.

"Stop it! We can't just leave them here! They- they need help! Let them come to Wutai! They aren't safe here!" She shouted in Wutaian, pleading with her father, though she knew it would probably just fall on deaf ears. After all, he wasn't even going to allow them to see her off.

"Make way! Clear a path! Aino, collect Yuffie's belongings from her room." Godo barked to his guardsmen, the young foreigners under his command moving in a quick, coordinated fashion to force the Press out of the hallway, while one of the women bowed slightly to the Emperor, and scurried into Yuffie's room. Leaning down close to her, he locked gazes with her, his own eyes a similar shade of washed out stone gray. "These people will _not_ be allowed anywhere near you, _or_ Wutai. Look at yourself. They nearly got you _killed_, forcing you into this murderous vendetta of theirs. Whatever they get, they deserve."

"They aren'tsome kind of _cult_!" She snarled at him, furious that he wouldn't listen to her. He had _never_ listened to her; as if he didn't believe she could make decisions concerning her own well-being. "They're my _friends_, don't you get it?! I didn't get kidnapped, or brainwashed, or cowed into this or whatever the fuck you think happened! I joined them because I wanted to be out in the world! I wanted an adventure, not to be stuck sitting around the palace all day while you lamented and raved, and _obsessed_ about how you were going to get our country back up to power!"

The wheelchair bumped to a stop suddenly, and both father and daughter broke from their argument, attention snapping to the obstruction that had presented itself.

A bare leg, bandaged from calf to ankle, was stuck out from the doorway to the left; the door which had been closed before, since the guardsmen hadn't even given the pitch black room a second glance as they had moved forward, ushering out all of the Press, not wanting any of them to get too close to the Emperor or his injured daughter. All of the Wutaians had been so caught up in getting the reporters out of their way, as well as the argument taking place between Godo and Yuffie, that the door being pulled open had gone by completely unnoticed.

Perhaps it had been their intention, to hide in the room, only until the guards had passed, and only then appear, having a clear shot at the emperor's daughter, not forced back, held at bay by the armed foreigners.

"You're acting like _we_ broke her legs to try and force her to stay here." a voice half-crooned in Wutaian, the pronunciation not exactly perfect, but understandable nonetheless.

"Who dares-" Godo began indignantly, as the interloper stuck her head out of the dark offshoot, almost leaking from the shadows, into the harsh contrast of the fluorescent hallway lights. Her right hand, free of its heavy swaddling of gauze for once, snaked out, flat to the wall, the flesh mottled with painful looking blisters, some raw areas starting to scab over a bit, giving her leverage to twist herself fully in front of Yuffie's wheelchair, her calf still up against the left wheel, blocking them from being able to get past her.

She reached out with her left hand, placing it gently on Yuffie's shoulder, squeezing it, trying to comfort the younger girl.

"I _dare_, I suppose." Tifa shrugged, glaring defiantly back at the emperor, blotchy red eyes holding a glassy, unfocused sheen. Her stance was lax, and she seemed half out of it, judging by her slurred words to Godo. "Understandable you want to protect your daughter, and, judgmental as you're being, I suppose we can understand that you want to place the blame on us for her ever ending up in this position in the first place. Considering that she originally joined us just to rob us blind, her mindset now might seem like we influenced her somehow, but we never _forced_ her to do _anything_. She could have left us at anytime she wanted, and Wutai's diplomatic immunity would have spared her any repercussions or accusations of treason from the Shinra. She stayed with us of her own choice. We are not monsters, sir. We're just people. People that, admittedly, have done some bad things, but all in the name of trying to help the world as a whole."

"Mongrel." Godo muttered distastefully, taking in her mixed features, her imperfect grasp of the Wutaian tongue. Due to Wutai's isolationist stance, their xenophobic stance on intermingling with outside races, in the emperor's eyes, the martial artist was something impure; a clear example of the failings of one of the dissidents that had been exiled from his country, likely by his own decree. How _dare_ someone of her background speak so frankly, so disrespectfully toward him, butchering his mother-tongue no less? "You had better hold your tongue, if you know what is best for you."

Tifa ignored his threat, leaning down toward Yuffie, her hands braced on the chair's armrests, so close to Yuffie's face that their noses were almost touching. She offered a small, lopsided little grin, her hand coming up and brushing some hair away from her forehead, before planting a small kiss on the exposed skin.

Her lips were dry, slightly chapped, feeling almost death-cold against her heated, flushed skin. She had gotten so upset that she was red in the face, tears welling at her eyes. Tifa pulled back, resting her forehead against Yuffie's, her left hand cupping the back of the ninja's head, pads of her fingers threaded through the hair, rubbing against her scalp, trying to soothe her; calm her down a little.

"Go with your dad, Yuffie. I know you really don't want to, but we'll be okay. We've gotten through worse, yeah?" She paused, while Yuffie snuffled, grabbing her around the shoulders and pulling her into a tight hug, head buried in the junction where Tifa's neck met her shoulder, breathing hot and sticky against herskin, trying not to burst into sobs while everybody could still see her.

"I don't want to leave you." She whimpered into the other girl's collarbone, but Tifa just clicked her tongue a little, trying to calm her. If there was one thing that Tifa was good at, it was calming others down, trying to get them to see things positively. And hearing Tifa say that they would be okay, she _wanted _to believe it. She almost _could_ believe it. Not like in the dead, automatic way Cid had said it. "What if people come after you?"

"Then we run and we hide." She replied matter-of-factly, crooning in her imperfect Wutaian into Yuffie's ear. "We fight; fight for our lives if we have to, just like we've done before. And when things are safer, when we have the chance, we'll see you. This isn't going to be the last we see each other, right?" She chuckled a little at that last sentence, almost sounding self-deprecating. "Yeah, no matter what, we'll all eventually see each other again someday."

Tifa was suddenly pulled backward, torn away from Yuffie's clinging grasp, the ninja gripping fervently at her left wrist, trying to keep Tifa there. She was stretched forward in her chair rather perilously, not wanting to let go, as two of the Royal Guards were attempting to haul Tifa out of the way, at Godo's insistence.

Yuffie was suddenly grabbed by the shoulder as pulled roughly back into her seat by the guardsman trying to wheel her out. She stared in shock as Tifa was dragged backwards by her upper arms, trying to shake the interlopers off. Mad as she was, Tifa wouldn't fight them, wouldn't cause any more trouble, wouldn't-

Her high-minded concept of Tifa's grace in the matter quickly disintegrated, however, as the martial artist planted her feet, refusing to move another inch, and twisted, ripping her left arm free of the restraining hold.

"-off me!" She snapped, bringing her fist around low, driving it into the breastbone of the Wutaian gripping her right arm, shaking him off as his grip faltered and he fell to the linoleum. She brought her left leg around, hitting the other guard in the backs of his knees, sending him sprawling backwards as well. "Just let us say _goodbye_, for fuck's sake! Just give us a _minute_ with her!" She demanded, glowering toward the emperor, as she stepped forward again, reaching out for Yuffie, who reached out for her as well.

But Tifa's burned, wounded arm was grabbed in a tight, nearly crushing grip, causing her eyes to fly open wide as the pain shot up her nerves, registering in her brain. She gritted her teeth and winced, head coming up to see who had grabbed her-

And her head snapped back, as an open palm was thrust directly against the tip of her nose.

Reeve and the others stared in mute shock as Godo pulled Tifa toward him in one fluid pull on her arm, his other hand coming up and grasping the front of her top. He hefted her up and over in a Judo throw, sending her crashing against the wall, before falling into a heap on the ground, blood beginning to flow from her nostrils.

Yuffie let out a shriek at that, and twisted, trying to get to Tifa, hands scrabbling uselessly, and it felt sickeningly too much like déjà vu, trying to get a look at her, get _to_ her, as she lay crumpled on the ground.

Tifa just lay there on her back, blood and fluid leaking from the ruptured blisters and torn skin on her arm that had barely begun to heal, her right hand pressed to her wounded side, having crashed to the ground on her left hip, jostling the heavily sutured area.

She stared glassily toward Yuffie, the blood flowing from her nose traveling sideways across her cheeks, before dribbling onto the slightly off-white colored tiles.

Godo made his way over to her, looming above her, the hem of his fine silk robes wisping across her forehead.

"If you ever come near my daughter; come anywhere near Wutai for that matter, I will have you imprisoned until the end of your miserable days." He warned, before turning away from her and back toward Yuffie, who was openly sobbing now, at the sight of Tifa just laying there, refusing to get back up.

"What the Hell are you _doing_?!" Yuffie shrieked at him "You didn't need…..She nearly _died_!"

Godo paused and looked back toward Tifa, who was still staring at Yuffie with that glazed, million-mile gaze.

"A pity she didn't." He muttered, half to himself, making his way toward the double doors, hailing for the others of his entourage that were still in the wing to follow him. The two guards taken down by Tifa got up and composed themselves, while the guard pushing Yuffie's wheelchair kept step alongside Godo, and the woman sent to collect Yuffie's belongings scurried out of the room, falling into step behind them.

Through her tears, Yuffie looked back, taking a final glance at them, seeing the shock, the barely concealed rage toward her father.

"I'm sorry!" She shrieked at them in the common tongue, shaking her head and reaching back fruitlessly toward them, despite the rapidly expanding distance from them. "Oh Hell, I'm so, so, sorry. I didn't….. I don't….."

"Not your fault, baby." Barret assured her, shaking his head helplessly. For a minute, she thought that was all he was going to say, but right as the chair bumped over the threshold of the doorway, the large man looked at her, his normally hard brown eyes missing their usual fire. "Be tough. We love you kid, don' ever forget that. You still one of us."

She held Barret's gaze until the doors slammed shut behind her, cutting her off from her friends with a very final-sounding _bang_. She buried her face in her hands, tears falling freely.

And they just kept falling, even after she made it home to her father's palace in Wutai. Home to safety.

Without her friends.


	8. Chapter 8

Just a quick nod to say thanks to all the people that have reviewed and made inputs on this story (I like 'em more than those 'OMG! Rite more!' kinds). And for people that reviewed or PMed me about not liking how I seemed to twist Godo into a 'villain' for the purpose of the last chapter, it's not really the case. He'll pop back up in later chapters, not being all 'Rargh! My daughter! Fuck you, you fucking fucks, I'm the Emperor!'. Dude was just ill-informed and crazy pissed about his daughter being put in danger.

I rewrote this chapter a few times, and I'm still not a fan of it. The Turks are falling apart too, and Reeve has a plan.

* * *

He ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, Rude right on his heels, the noise of their footsteps in the confined area much too loud, creating a racket that echoed around them, deafening them to any sort of indication of what could be awaiting them at their destination. Hopefully the heavy fire doors leading to each floor would muffle the noise enough for whatever intruders to not hear them coming.

Whatever it was, it had to have been bad. And if Reno were still alive, he was going to kill the red-head himself. 'Nothing's gonna happen' the red-head had assured him, as he practically begged the older man to just run one single, 'teensy-tinesy' little errand.

He had objected at first to going across town, wanting to tell Reno to pick up the parcel himself if it was so important. But Rude had eventually agreed that they'd pick it up. Reno had given them the biggest shit-eating grin in the world, slapped Rude on the shoulder cheerfully, and gave the other man a bright 'thanks pal, that's why I love ya' before he'd turned away and headed back to his post by the double doors at the end of the hall.

Those two should have been split up _years_ ago. Never sat too well when partners became too close. Best to have a strictly business-oriented partnership. Too many crack-ups happened in the Turks' past when an issue had broken the back of one of the partnerships. He remembered when he had first been brought into to the Turks, it had been to replace a man named Grayson Galli. He'd committed suicide after an incident involving the death of his partner. He'd left his partner, wounded, to complete a mission. She had complained he was trying to mother her when he insisted on taking care of her first, insisted that she would be fine. From what he knew, the woman, Elsa, he believed her name had been, had bled out by the time he had gotten back to her. Galli had seemed relatively unfazed by it, until one morning, they had found him, strangled to death, his own garrote fastened around his neck.

Heidegger had explained the whole mess to him, as he had been presented with his own brand-new, neatly pressed suit. He hadn't been out of Wutai long then, didn't exactly know what he was getting into. That was the problem with the Turks. Heidegger never explained the score to the newest members. You discovered the reality of the situation from the older members, the veterans that were too jaded to even _care_ anymore that the job was little more than a looming death sentence.

But they wanted the Turks to last as long as possible before they would give out. Grayson Galli, in Heidegger's opinion, could have been useful for more missions. But because he had gotten too attached to his partner, they had lost two bodies, instead of just one. 'Waste of resources' was how Heidegger put it. You weren't supposed to let your emotions get the best of you. Weren't even supposed to _have_ them. The blue suit was meant to constrict the life out of you, take away everything, save for the need to survive, the obligation to carry out missions, no matter the cost.

He had been determined to keep any partnerships from becoming too closely knit. When he had first paired Reno and Rude together, he had figured they would keep things strictly business-like; Hell Rude was so messed up after the war, he barely spoke to any of them, generally kept completely to himself. He hadn't suspected that the two would manage to click, do such good work together. Time and time again, he had tried to rotate the partnerships, but Heidegger and President Shinra had overruled him, stating that they were surprisingly efficient at their work, and to keep them working together, for consistency. That, and Hojo had constantly demanded Valley Crawford and Mirabella LaJara to accompany him to Nibelheim, for a number of missions, before Sephiroth destroyed the town. With those two constantly having to answer the scientist's beck and call, it had been just himself with Reno and Rude taking other missions. And then, after what happened to Valley and Mira, there was no way he could have kept Reno and Rude apart. Heidegger refused to bolster their numbers for a long time, and even then, only brought in Elena after Reno was beaten by AVALANCHE in Sector Seven.

He didn't mind that those two got on so well, honestly. Good to have someone to trust in their job. But the fact that Rude would agree to something that strayed from their itinerary, just on the basis that they were friends, well…..

Look at what happened.

They'd been halfway way across town when Elena had begun pounding away incessantly on her signaler, and it had taken them much too long to double back to the hospital. Not only that, but Elena's continuous hails had stopped about five minutes ago, leaving him worried that they would get back too late to be of any use. Had they been over-taken? Were they fighting now? Defeated? Dead?

They'd seen all of the reporters swarming around the front entrance as they had neared the hospital; Rude had pointed out the almost garishly ornate uniforms of the Wutaian Royal Guards. He had an idea of what the presence of Wutai meant. Godo had probably come to reclaim his daughter. The man was an old, over-stuffed _relic_ of a time when Wutai hadn't been a complete joke in terms of power. Godo seemed to live and breathe the idea that someday, his country would once again be a global power, like it had been before Shinra put the pompous old fool in his place.

If the emperor _had_ been there, and had simply taken his daughter home, he would still be incensed about arriving too late to do anything about the situation. Maybe the others wouldn't stand up to the man, antsy and uncertain because of his status, the fact that they couldn't _really_ keep his daughter away from him, and just let the foreigner push them all around, not wanting to cause any more trouble.

He didn't care. If Godo were up there, going along on some falsely-perceived powertrip, he wanted to get even a _minute_ face-to-face with him. He hadn't seen the man in over a decade, should have had plenty of time to let the old wounds heal, but he still held a grudge. He was right, he knew he'd been right about the whole futility of trying to declare war on an area that was of heavy interest to the Shinra. But for all his protests, all his arguments, he hadn't changed the emperor's mind. He'd simply gained the man's ire.

He'd been exiled from the country for his insolence in the face of Godo's plans, his entire _life_ thrown into disarray because he was the only one that had been willing to point out the utter _foolishness_ of what the emperor though was absolutely fail-safe.

Tseng had been honorable about the incident, certainly much more accepting about the situation than others before him had been. He didn't beg, plead, sob. He kept his dignity in the entire process; the public denouncing, being forced to surrender his weapons, his uniform in a very, very _public_ 'ceremony'. He sometimes wondered if his family still felt the dishonor, the humiliation of having to watch him be stripped of his rank and forced to walk through the street, flanked like a dangerous prisoner by his former comrades, some sort of spectacle to show that _this_ was what happened when you went against the emperor.

Depending on the severity of the 'crime', and who the offender was, public opinion differed. Turnout was mandatory, to set an example, but he in his time had been an upstanding young man, well respected among the people, a man of good breeding, good morals. It had been a somber, almost silent affair. Many were distraught to see him go. He was to never step foot in his home country again, his name blacklisted along with the others that had gained crossed Godo somehow; forever shamed in the eyes of Wutai.

Word was that most of those exiled had committed suicide over the utter shame of their situation. But Tseng had felt himself above such a triviality. Such concepts of shame and honor were _Wutaian_ ones. After that, he felt no need to consider himself as such. In time, he had ended up in Midgar, in Shinra. His knowledge of the common tongue was poor. To this day he spoke with a very heavy accent. The President had seemed delighted to meet him, despite the fact that prejudice against Wutaians was extremely high at that point internationally.

He had no family, no friends, no connections. Those had all been left behind. He was a skilled warrior, good education, tactical experience, and knew of the inner workings of Wutai. Now if _only_ they could just do something about his language. With credentials such as that, he had been hired and shuffled into the Turks almost immediately, needing fresh blood after the loss of Grayson and Elsa. He had never heard of the group; Shinra rarely stepped foot in Wutai. Well, not before the war, anyway.

Last he'd seen of the emperor, it was when he was signing to the terms of Wutai'a surrender. He had accompanied the President as a 'security measure', though, as he figured, it was more of a powerplay, something else to rub Godo's face in; one of his former captains of the guard standing there, decked out in Turks' blue. When the emperor had seen him, the look on the old man's face had been priceless. Shock, betrayal, disgust, hatred….. an entire spectrum of emotions tied up in that one look.

But that hadn't sated him. Not nearly enough. He still ached, childishly, for some kind of revenge. One _minute_ to look him in the eye and point out that _he_ had been right, and for all that Godo had done to him, the old man had been _wrong_ all along.

Third floor…..

He didn't stop, didn't even slow, just rammed the bar with his shoulder, popping the catch on the door and ducking into the hall, partially in a crouch, Rude stopping just outside the threshold, swinging his gun around the corner, both of them ready to open fire. Only…..

Whatever had happened, it looked like they were too late to the party. Reeve was standing with Cid and Barret, Elena off to the side. She looked like she had been getting changed, standing there barefoot, in a pair of cotton lounge slacks with the waist and cuffs rolled a few times. Her hair was a little disheveled, makeup taken off one eye but not the other. Past them, Reno was standing by the double doors at the other end of the hall, looking like he was about to go off at any moment. And…..

Tifa was on the floor, crumpled against the wall, blood puddled beneath her head, eyes open and staring emptily toward the other wall.

Save for the martial artist, all eyes had turned toward the commotion of their hasty entrance, and they all just tiredly regarded them for a moment, before dropping their gazes. All except for Elena. After staring at them for a few silent moments, she stormed towards them, hands clenched into fists, absolutely _seething_.

"Where the _fuck_ were you two?!" She screeched, voice almost enough to make him wince. She had to have been extremely put-off if she didn't put in a 'sir' at the end of her statement. She _always_ said 'sir' when addressing him, even when she was none-too-pleased. Even when he told her time and time again it wasn't necessary. "We could've used some help here! I was hailing you guys for a good fifteen minutes!"

He sighed disgustedly and slid his gun into its holster at his left hip, brushing off Elena's question as he assessed the situation. The fact Yuffie wasn't there, and the fact that they had noticed Wutaian guardsmen outside of the hospital seemed to indicate his theory had been correct. Though, it wasn't rocket science. What _other_ reason would Wutai have had to come here?

"Godo came for his daughter." He sighed, not making a question of it, nor an observation. The statement came out harsh and impolite, his refusal to speak of the emperor politely by addressing him by his status was something he had refused to do since his exile.

"Fff…._yeah_! You _think_?!" Elena shot back hotly. Honestly, why couldn't she ever have been _this_ aggressive when they had still worked for Shinra? "And every fucking media outlet on the _continent_ was buzzing around in here with them! Soon as the daytime broadcast hits….." She paused drawing her thumb across her throat in a quick motion. "We'll have a fucking lynch mob burning this place to the ground or something."

"I doubt we would have been able to do much good, if that were the case." He sighed lowly, shaking his head. One reporter, people might not have missed. But the gaggle they had seen surrounding the entrance, well, it would be rather…..suspicious if they _all_ suddenly disappeared. Liquidating that many paparazzo probably wasn't within their power now anyway, especially with Reeve attempting to calm the masses. He never thought he would find himself getting _nostalgic_ for the old days. Heidegger and the President would have given them the go-ahead, the _order_ to do such a thing. Make it look like some horrible accident, or some scapegoat to pin it upon.

"Is she dead?" Rude asked from over his left shoulder, piping up before Elena could continue screaming at them, obviously speaking of Tifa, who hadn't moved, hadn't made any sign that she was cognizant of her surroundings in the least. And that blood slicked across the floor beneath her skull, well…..

"Nah. She and Godo got in an argument or _somethin_'. Dunno, they were going back and forth in that fuckin' ching-chang talk, she kept trying to get a minute to say goodbye to the kid, and he just flat out kung-fued her. She seemed fucked up too, from the looks of it. Like she was stoned or something."

Tseng pursed his lips agitatedly, glaring at Reno. As un-PC as the redhead often got, and as used to it as he was, boorish statements such as 'ching-chang talk' to refer to the Wutaian language never failed to disgust him. That, and the fact that he was not even ten feet from her, yet hadn't offered her the slightest assistance. Certainly, Reno wanted to uphold his 'image' in front of AVALANCHE. He could understand the brash, devil-may-care bravado Reno projected, and yes, they _had_ been their enemies, targets, in the past. But Reno could still offer some common courtesy to an injured woman, for God's sake. He could still _act_ like a human being. Reno was certainly _aching_ for a beating from somebody tonight.

"And you aren't helping her _why_?" He asked crisply, making his way toward Tifa with Rude behind him, though his gaze never left Reno.

"Don't you fuckin' _start_, man." He shot back, anger flaring to life, springing to life in his face, his stance, his _voice_. He generally spoke with an easy, lazy drawl, regardless of who he was talking to or what the situation was. Always the same tone, same vocabulary. He could be speaking to one of their targets, or the President, it didn't matter. Always the same laid back croon, peppered with little smirks and jokes.

But hit a nerve with him, and it all just seemed to evaporate, the ticking time-bomb beneath the nonplussed appearance going off at full force.

Things were going to Hell all around them. Scratch that. Things _were_ Hell all around them. Bad enough they were caught up in helping (failing to help?) Reeve keep the situation under wraps, but now they were going off on one another as well, no real enemy to divert their aggression toward.

He wasn't too happy to have any part in this. But the Turks had possibly a worse rap than AVALANCHE as far as the public was concerned. Time to put on a fresh face, and hope people would eventually forget about the bastards in blue.

He continued to glare at Reno, but knelt down toward Tifa, looking her over.

"Are you dead?" He asked lowly, speaking in Wutaian, glad to use his own language, rather than the clipped, bastard language that felt so clumsy on his tongue, even after so long.

She didn't reply at first, and he almost thought she would ignore him altogether, when she shifted slightly, pushing herself unsteadily into a sitting position, legs splayed in a very unladylike fashion, given her current state of dress. She was shaking slightly, tremors running up and down her bare legs, the muscles not swaddled beneath medical tape twitching beneath the skin. She always seemed a model of vitality, all compact, lean muscle, strength, both physical and mental that kept her from breaking under all sorts of pressure, the ability to keep the morale of the others up, even if she didn't even believe her own words…..

This defeated, jittery _mess_ was nothing like the woman he had so painstakingly studied, nearly _obsessed_ over when he had been looking into AVALANCHE's members. Not disgustingly optimistic as Aerith could often get, but relying on some inner strength, some deep-rooted resolve. Nothing had broken them yet, they could endure time and time again.

But now…..

"Are _you_ dead?" She echoed, almost mockingly, the conversation almost replicating the one they'd had when she had first woken up in the hospital, disoriented enough to believe herself speaking to a dead man. She brought her left hand up, wiping clumsily at her bloodied face, blood smearing across her palm, across her skin, making a large red smudge. She held her hand out, studying it for a moment, before letting it drop back to the ground with a wet _slap_ against the tiles.

He sighed through his nose, pulling out a handkerchief and kneeling down to her level, carefully daubing at her upper lip, trying to catch some of the blood.

"He _hit_ you."

She just smiled, an almost sleepy tug on her lips, teeth such a stark contrast against the clownish red smudges surrounding her mouth.

"Sure I had it coming." She replied, shoulders twitching, causing her to jerk slightly. "Old man's got a temper like his kid. Besides, you pull somebody's only family into something like this, nearly get 'em killed, they're not going to shake your hand and shower you with praises, are they?"

"That doesn't _allow_ him to make such a scene. Doesn't give him the right to attack an incapacitated woman."

"But it'd be alright for him to take a swing at Barret or Cid?" She replied rhetorically, rolling her eyes. "We endangered the life of the heir to the Wutaian throne. Of course the guy's going to want to take his anger out on somebody. _I_ got in his face, _I_ tried to keep him from taking his daughter, _I_ am something he doesn't much care for in the first place. That, combined with the fact that he only has the same information everybody else has about us, I'm probably _lucky_ I got off with just this." She murmured, tapping a finger to her nose, faint hints of discoloration beginning to blossom beneath her fair skin. That was another thing about her. She never wanted to blame anybody else, aside from the Shinra. She would heap the blame on herself if she needed to; like she didn't believe most people were truly evil. They were victims as well. _They_ had a right to be angry about what they didn't understand.

He himself wasn't such a forgiving type. If you lashed out at the wrong person because of a lack of information, you were in the wrong _and_ an idiot. Ignorance didn't allow one a carte blanche to make some possibly devastating situation just because you were too stupid to inform yourself of all angles.

Maybe that forgiving mindset was what made her one of the 'good' guys, and him one of the 'bad' ones.

"Gray-area vigilante shit isn't very rewarding, huh?" She sighed, letting her head roll back, crown of her head resting against the wall, sending the blood trickling in a lazy diagonal path down her cheeks.

"No, I suppose not." He agreed, eyeing the patchwork of stitches holding together the left side of her forehead, gaze trailing down toward the unbandaged burns on her right arm. She almost acted as if the appendage wasn't there anymore, let it sit like dead weight most of the time. "You-"

He stopped short, taking in the way she looked at him, as if looking right through him, an inappropriate little smile tugging sporadically at her lips, the little twitches and tremors sending her knees jerking every now and then.

"You're not well, are you?" He finally settled on asking, glancing over his shoulder. Rude was still standing there, eyeing Tifa disapprovingly, despite the fact that he was completely oblivious to the topic of conversation between the two.

Further down the hall, Reeve was pacing back and forth, extremely agitated, conversing in low tones with the other two AVALANCHE members and Elena. Peering to his right, Reno was still standing guard, sulking and fuming, having no current outlet for his anger.

She just let out a hiccupping little laugh, letting the sound dissolve into a slight whine as she sucked in a breath.

Rude nudged at him, quick little knee-jerk to his elbow, faint click from the artificial joint audible to his ears. It was hard to notice, unless you were close by it. He glanced at him again, questioningly.

The other man shifted the parcel he was holding to his right hand, and brought his freed up hand toward his mouth, curled in a loose fist. He flicked his thumb against the inside of his index finger, mimicking the motion of popping something into his mouth.

Well….. that certainly explained Tifa's little sporadic movements and distant mindset. Girl was probably high as a kite if she had been popping pills. At least the knocks she'd taken weren't bothering her too much. Her end of the conversation was the same kind of deep, infinitely understanding stance she generally upheld, despite her muddled mindset. No wonder she had been content to just lie on the floor after getting thrown over. Most likely feeling no pain, and content to just drift in and out of her own, hazy little world.

He swiped at the blood on her face again, sighing.

"As…..comfortable as you seem to be just sitting there, would you begrudge me to take you back to your room? I don't like to leave people bleeding on the floor." He offered, reaching down and lightly taking hold of her left wrist, which came up easily enough, leaving a dark red handprint on the tile in its wake.

She squinted a little, as if trying to process the comment, shaking her head.

"You were in the wrong line of work then, weren't you?" She asked, a hint of bitterness toeing around the edge of the otherwise dazed tone.

"People I'm not actively attempting to kill." He rectified, shifting his grip on her uncertainly. How best to pull her up with the least risk of jarring one of her injuries…..?

After a moment of deliberation, he settled for hooking his hands under her armpits and hoisting her up, like he was hefting a child over some slight obstacle. She swooned a little, unsteady on her feet, and nearly took a faceplant back onto the tile before he caught her, quickly steering her toward the open door of her room. He flicked the lightswitch on, wincing slightly against the burst of the strong fluorescent lighting and walked her toward the bed, keeping his hands on her shoulders as she turned and maneuvered herself until she was perched on the edge of it, spine curved as she slumped forward, staring at her burned arm.

The areas where the blisters had ruptured looked shiny slick and raw, little transparent flaps of skin smushed up in ridges that would eventually dry to stiff pieces of dead skin, which she'd probably end up picking at if the maddening hot _ache_ bothered her enough.

Still holding her steady, hands lightly settled on her shoulders, he looked around the room uncertainly, checking for some gauze, some antiseptic, _something_ that he could use to clean up the young woman's bloodied face.

Out in the hall, the doors banged open, and he heard the sharp _pop_ that meant Reno had pulled his weapon on the intruder, ready to take his frustration out on whoever it was.

"Oh _please_. Put that thing away." The sharp voice wafted into the room, tone loaded with disgust. He could imagine the speaker waggling her finger disapprovingly toward Reno as they stared each other down.

Footsteps, coming toward, entering, the room, and he glanced back, seeing the burly form of Nurse Talbot standing there, looking Tifa over with a kind of resignation. Like she had seen the martial artist this roughed up and despondent before.

"Honestly Tifa." She sighed to herself, shaking her head as she strode into the room, unceremoniously bumping Tseng out of her way, as she looked her patient over. "Hand me the gauze in that drawer over there."

It took him a moment to realize that she was speaking to him. Obediently, he made his way to the bedside table, sliding the drawer open. A number of gauze pads were set in there, splayed around messily in an attempt to cover the empty blister packs tossed in there as well, foil backing punctured, probably by a fingernail. There were probably a dozen or so empty dosage packets in there. She couldn't have taken them all at once, she'd probably be goddamn comatose by now.

Well, it wasn't his concern. He pushed the blister packs to the back of the drawer and pulled out a few packets of gauze, watching silently as Janice tore two of them open, neatly folding and rolling them into little cylinders, which she proceeded to carefully insert up Tifa's nostrils to stem the bloodflow.

Didn't even bother to throw gloves on...

"I'm going to patch her up and have a little talk with her. Do you mind passing me a pair of gloves before you leave?" She wasn't even looking at him as she spoke, and her words implied that it wasn't open for him to mill about while she presumably chewed Tifa out for going and getting herself in a situation like this.

He tossed a few crumpled latex gloves at her from the dispenser affixed to the wall and headed for the door, when Tifa picked her head up, snuffling slightly around the plugs of gauze.

"What about Nanaki?" She asked, in the common tongue this time, giving him pause. He looked back at her, seeing the hazy, disjointed grin, the glossy glaze to her eyes, all reigned in, leaving her deadly serious; sober in her sudden thought.

"He's gone back to the Canyon."

"I know." Hollow, almost angry retort "He doesn't _know_ that people _know_." Not the most eloquent way of putting it, but he got the gist of her question. Once word got out, would people come after him? Trek to the canyon on a suspicion that one of their self-appointed targets was there? The canyon didn't have much in the way of technology, the residents stressed simple living, off the land, getting in touch with nature. Spiritualist crap was what he thought of it. Phoning in a warning would have been difficult.

"Someone will take care of it." He replied dismissively, as he backed himself out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him. Trying not to shudder at the sight of her staring at him dully, bloodied mouth once again curling into a tiny smirk, as if she couldn't help it. God only knew what was going on in that mind of hers.

"Tseng, get a move on, come on!" Reeve barked at him as soon as he reemerged from Tifa's room, causing him to look toward the executive, seeing him standing there, overcoat slung over his arm, some bundled up parcel in that starchy white hospital bedding tucked in at the crook of his elbow. He had an almost manic look in his dark-rimmed eyes, practically thrumming with nervous energy.

"Beg your pardon?" He asked lowly, obviously having missed something while tending to Tifa.

"Get to the roof, get the chopper ready." He barked, and Tseng gave a curt nod, already starting for the stairwell, though he gave Reeve a questioning glance as he neared the others. They'd monopolized the landing zone on the hospital roof for their own personal needs, kept a salvaged Shinra helicopter up there. A heliport on the roof had to be a standard feature for hospitals on the continent, in case the need for immediate medical attention in Shinra-related matters became necessary. God knew that Kalm of all places didn't feature airlift med-evac, or any sort of localized air traffic for that matter.

"Where are we going?" The executive seemed to have some sort of plan, but he wasn't sure he'd like to hear what it was. He had an inkling of what it might be though.

"The relief area, soon as we goddamn can." He replied sharply, nodding toward Rude. "Go with him, get a hold of Domino, tell him to call an emergency assembly for all refugees and personnel." The other man just nodded glumly, heading for the stairwell with his head dipped, as if trying to avoid Elena's furious glare as he passed by.

"Am emergency assembly?" Tseng echoed, eyes narrowing. "You're not going to-"

"You're goddamn right I am." Reeve cut in evenly. He had to be riled up if he was spitting out so many 'goddamns' in rapid succession. It was the closest he ever got to swearing. "They want answers, they're going to get their answers."

"Are you sure that's wise?"

A rueful grin twisted thinly at Reeve's mouth, and he shook his head, openly admitting to the folly of his plan.

"Of course it's not. It's a gamble. I'm going to beat them to the table on this one."

"Hey, boss man, what about us?" Reno piped up from his self-appointed sentry position, seeming to perk up at the idea of _some_ sort of action.

"Somebody has to stay here. If things get out of hand, somebody needs to be here to get them" He jerked his thumb toward Barret and Cid quickly "Out of here. And since I imagine this won't go particularly smoothly, you certainly don't do much to diffuse a tense situation."

"Alright, fine, _whatever_." He shrugged, trying to hide the bruised-black rage prickling beneath his skin at the mere _suggestion_ that he was incompetent with his light, unruffled tone. He shifted his gaze toward Tseng and Rude appraisingly "You guys at least manage to score me what I asked for?"

The parcel Rude had been carrying was suddenly hurled none-too-gently over his shoulder toward the redhead, though it missed its mark and fell a few feet short, skitting along the ground in its wax-paper wrapping, bumping to a stop against one scuffed up boot.

He scooped it up and greedily uncrimped the bag, pulling out a somewhat smashed looking pastry, nodding appraisingly at it and ripping off a piece of dough with his teeth before dropping it back in.

"Thanks guys. Don't let 'em near your goods, hear me?" He called around the mouthful after them as Rude disappeared through the stairwell door, footsteps sounding dully on the concrete steps.

Tseng pointedly ignored the murderous look Elena shot him, the way she hissed 'a _fucking_ danish' her words saturated with venom. Stole a sidelong glance at Barret and Cid who were staring back evenly, looking ignored and out of place all of a sudden. Cid offered a thin smile, scrubbing the palm of one splinted hand across his face roughly. He was beginning to sport the scruffy beginnings of a beard, not being able to handle a razor in his current state.

He nodded back at them, following Rude back into the stairwell, trudging dutifully up the steps after him, all the pent up fire of an impending fight replaced with a sullen expectancy, knowing that it was just himself and Rude that would be the only thing keeping Reeve safe from a mass of disheartened refugees. Ones that would probably be quick to anger at the mention of AVALANCHE.

At least it was a return to the old form. Almost-certain suicide runs thinly veiled under the guise of a 'mission'. Was Reeve sending himself and Rude because of their more professional poise, or...

Was it because they'd compromised their current 'job' by running an errand for Reno?

He'd shot one last look back at the redhead, saw him chewing away contentedly on another mouthful of the pastry, seemingly not caring about the situation anymore, since he'd gotten what he wanted. The redhead had given that easy wave, mouthed a trite little 'good luck' at him, grinning widely, probably glad he didn't have to go to the relief site with them.

If he got out of this trip alive, if he got back to the hospital in one functional piece, he _was_ going to kill Reno himself. Or….. no. He wouldn't. He'd probably be doing the younger man a favor.

And he wasn't going to be doing any of _those_ for Reno.

Not any goddamn more.


	9. Chapter 9

Finally, _finally_ back to this story. I just couldn't get this chapter into a way I liked it, dithered around with it in several incarnations, and then gave up altogether. For over a year. But whatever, trying to get back in the saddle here (and the fact I get fave & story alerts about this still, so I guess people actually like this one?). Hope you enjoy, and I _promise_ that we'll have a change to everybody being all morose and shit… soon.

* * *

Alright, so he'd _kind of_ fucked up. A little. Not that he'd _admit_ to it, mind you. They couldn't have done much anyway given their lack of resources. Well, sure they _could_ have, but he doubted Reeve wanted 'Turk opens fire on reporters in hospital' as a front page story. Everybody on his case because he didn't _like_ it.

He'd actually started to _respect_ AVALANCHE. They'd been tough, kicked his ass enough times to _earn_ it. Elena, in all of her rookie wisdom, thought they were kinda _cool_. Tagged in for them, took care of them like she wanted them to like her back. The others seemed fine to help out too, for the time being. But he didn't _like_ it.

Didn't know how many times he'd have to stress it before it started to sink in.

After all they'd done to earn his (somewhat grudging) respect, they just had to turn around and pull something like _this_. Laying around all weepy and helpless, acting like it was the end of the world for them. If they wanted to belly up, far be it from him to try and coax them back.

Red XIII, he could still respect. Hung around a couple of days and then got on with his life as soon as he found out what the final body count was. Didn't stick around crying the blues. Sure, he'd been a little sympathetic to their cause the first few days. _Tried_ to be nice to Tifa when he was posted in her room, when she'd finally woken up after three days as a comatose wreck.

She was okay too. Still pretty together. When she wasn't out of it or sleeping off whatever painkillers she'd been taking. Was tempted to roll his eyes about _that_ little development. Seemed stand-offish and fatalistic when she was coherent and not trying to sugarcoat it like she did for the Princess or Barret's kid. Almost tempted to ask _why_ she was doing that. Never pegged her as being a pill-popper. Considered for all of a second before he remembered that he didn't _care_. Had to respect her though. Somebody _that_ banged up being able to sneak around _all_ of them _and_ the staff to get at the pills wasn't something he figured anyone else could have done. Found it ridiculous nobody called her on it yet. Everybody _knew_.

Detox was going to be a bitch. Hoped everyone else was going to like getting puked on. Wasn't going to bother sticking around to play at Florence Nightingale. Figured he was just going to cut and run on his own. On thin ice with Reeve already. Pissed off his partners just because he wasn't as invested in this whole mess as they were. He'd miss 'em, sure. But in the way you'd miss long-time co-workers you'd palled around with.

They still had a reputation. He wasn't worried about people coming after him, trying to settle some past grudge. If people were upset about Sector Seven, well, he didn't care fuck all about that. He'd been doing his _job_. Go dig up old man Shinra and piss on his corpse if you wanted to get revenge on _anybody_.

Reeve had called him a few minutes before, let him know they were almost to the relief site, that he'd be on the air soon. He'd wished the other man luck, told him to take digs at Rufus and the old man if he had to. Talk about Hojo being a fucking _lunatic_. Not like it _wasn't_ their fault in the first place. Reeve had a good two hours and change on the flight to think about what he was going to say, how he was going to spin things. So long as he made a statement before any news sources blabbed about their 'discovery' of AVALANCHE, he figured they would weather this just fine.

Had passed the news off to Elena, who had only given him a punk-rocker caliber scowl in return. All of them packed together in Barret's room, his daughter awake and cranky from all the commotion that'd been going on. Figured he didn't want to be caught up in _that_ shitshow and wandered back to Tifa's room, giving an excuse that _somebody_ should be keeping an eye on her, _gone_ as she was.

_Where she gone to_? Barret had asked uncertainly, still dulled down from that knock on the head. He'd just tipped his head to hide the sneer and backed out of the room. Those two probably thought she was _upset_. Just hurt from the way Godo had beaten her around. Probably couldn't wrap their heads around it.

So, there he was, sitting at the foot of Tifa's bed, leaning back in the chair, feet propped up on the stiff mattress pad. Nothing much to do around this godforsaken place except for _stare_ at her. Nah, too creepy. Wished he would have just taken off from the get-go, rather than stick around with Reeve. Should have never bothered to pick up Cait Sith's transmitter when Cid had patched through to it.

Lockhart was laying on her stomach, mouth open to breathe due to the gauze plugs up her nose. Probably sacked out before removing them. Discoloration along the bridge of her nose in a rather _regal_ shade of purple, red crusts rimming her nostrils. Right arm was folded up awkwardly above her head, out of the way so she wouldn't roll onto it. Wrapped lightly, but he'd _seen_ it out in the open. Like something out of a goddamn horror movie. Odd she went to such lengths to keep it out of sight, out of mind. Didn't seem as horrified of the burn scars up and down her left forearm. Of course, she had always worn those _gloves_ over them. Knew it was a result of Nibelheim. Huge scar running hip to collarbone in a diagonal swipe. Things she didn't _flaunt_, but at the same time, didn't act like it was something foreign stuck to her. Beyond that and the pressure wrap around her midsection, the stitches on her forehead, she didn't look _that_ bad. Had seen her pretty torn up in the past. Had been there the time Rude had nearly knocked her brain-dead.

Kind of wished she hadn't crashed out. Sure, she pretty much _hated_ him. Not that he held it against her, oh no. But _anything _had to be better than putting up with the sadsacks in the other room, or just sitting around here feeling like a creep, staring at a half naked woman sleeping. Would have enjoyed getting snappy with her. Settled on glancing around the sparse room, hoping it would keep his attention for all of five minutes.

The bags she'd been holding onto were all open, shoved into the corner, looking like she'd been organizing them, unimportant things piled into the pack on the right, which had tipped over. Probably going through them when Godo had come along party crashing.

At least he'd been nice enough to have checked over Vincent's gauntlet when he and Tseng had been rummaging through the remains of the Highwind. The wires sticking out of it, he'd figured it was cybernetic or _something_. Nearly pissed himself when he'd fiddled with the clasps, leaving a rather gamey, decaying arm to fall free, some ruined piece of equipment embedded in the end of the limb where it had been taken off. Would have caught _more_ hell if they hadn't caught that until Tifa had been looking it over. Probably would have been worth the laugh, however.

Slid down in the chair to give himself another inch or so of reach, braced himself and nudged her none-too-gently, right on the wrap job over her calf. Left a bit of a tread-print on the sterile white, but she didn't even _budge_. He tried again, a little harder this time, and still, not even a twitch or a frown or something.

So much for a chat. But, if she was _that_ out of it…

"Mind if I have a smoke, dearest?" Already had his pack out as he asked, lighting up without hesitation. Took a long drag before exhaling, tipping his head back to watch the smoke drift lazily toward the ceiling. Noticed the smoke detector winking red at him, ominous, almost daring him to keep it up. Way the time was already going…

With a sigh he pushed himself up, tromping to the window and sliding it open, taking another pull. Window screen was ripped across the bottom, right edge curling in the stiffening wind. Glad Reeve hadn't wanted _him_ to pilot the chopper to the relief site. If the weather kept up, it'd be a _bitch_ navigating back, especially if they were in too poor of a standing to wait it out by the time Reeve was done playing Dateline NBC. Running from those Slummers like their lives _depended_ on it, probably. Felt like maybe he should be feeling a little responsible for Tseng and Rude getting shoved along on Reeve's little suicide mission.

Hell of a Danish, though.

Pushed the ripped screen out to tap the ashes off his cigarette, staring down at the streets below. Boring place. Small town shit, nothing compared to Midgar. Felt a little lost in the lurch, since everything died down. Nothing to get his blood pumping. Nothing to get _excited _about. Hadn't even managed to take a swing at one of those fucking press hounds. Felt that, in retrospect, it was a wasted opportunity. Used to chomp at the bit whenever he'd hear about AVALANCHE causing too much of a problem. _Volunteered_ to go after them, despite the fact his first meeting with them ended with a severe ass kicking and his arm being broken in three places. He'd never volunteered for anything before that.

Tried picking fights with them now because they were _pathetic_. Got a black eye from needling at Highwind too much, but that'd been _okay_ because at least the bastard still had some fight in him. Not like Yuffie crying and simpering all the time. Not like Barret, clinging to his daughter and acting ready to martyr himself. Not like Tifa, shoving her problems down two-by-two, to sleep like the dead and just be conveniently _numb_ to the world as she saw fit. Not like Reeve, trying to muster up the backbone on the fly to save the Slummers from tearing themselves apart.

Pff. _Let_ 'em.

Rolled the spent filter between his thumb and nail of his middle finger and flicked effortlessly, watching the still-lit cherry as it fell, disappearing into the neatly manicured bushes on the ground below. Turned from the window, leaving it propped open so the room would air out from the sharp smoke-scent, not that Lockhart would ever notice.

Made his way back to the lumpy, understuffed chair and threw himself back down, glancing around for the remote control to the tv mounted in the corner of the room. Didn't feel like messing with the channels manually. Local broadcasting was limited, lot of media production took place on the Plates. Some of the equipment had made it out for Channel Five, they'd been covering the evacuation, doing 'front line reporting' so to speak. Operating somewhat shoddily out of one of their crew vans at the edge of the relief site these days, former Star reporter looking more ragged every day she gave a report. Junon was the next closest city with major news coverage. Western and Northern majors still had channels operating, mostly just news, everything still focused around the Meteor, the fall of Shinra, Reeve's work, and the continuing mystery about AVALANCHE's whereabouts. Major celebrities doing telethons, information about food drives and donations, _nothing_ outside of Meteor's aftermath was on any channel.

Aside from GSTV, which, given Dio's philosophy on people using entertainment to distract themselves, was airing almost nothing but old cartoons. Neither option ever appealed to him.

Should at least tune in to catch the majority of Reeve's speech, if nothing else than to be prepared for when he'd have to drag Lockhart's ass out of there for when the angry mob came for them. She'd been respectable when she'd been well, so he could spare her that much. But where the Hell was the remote? Scanned the room idly, in no real hurry, despite hearing Elena shouting something along the lines of 'you getting this?' at him from down the hall. Sounded a little worried.

Well, _fuck_.

Not like he really expected anything _different_ though. But where was the… _there_! Remote on the mattress pressed under Tifa, corner of it sticking out from beneath her ribs. Snaked his hand out and plucked it free, idly noting that she made a short noise at the back of her throat as she was jostled.

Thumbed the power button, blank screen fading into color, leaving him staring at the hospital's default channel, just a stationary camera focused on the pulpit of the small in-house chapel on the first floor. Fucking _morbid_. Want to watch some television while you're recuperating and feeling like shit, and as soon as you turn it on, _bam_! Jesus statue and organ music comin' at you. Scrolled up a few channels until he caught a shaky, low-angle shot of Reeve, standing up on the makeshift podium the site had erected in order for easy addressing of the crowd. Number of large tents in the background, temporary living quarters, knew they were all set up with row after row of military cots, like a wartime field hospital.

On the stage, behind Reeve were Rude and Tseng, exchanging a look which Reno immediately picked up on. It was one that none of them ever _really_ gave to each other. Kind of a 'we're fucked' look, if anything. Probably had to do with the charred husk of the Cait Sith 'bot Reeve was holding up, dangling it lifelessly out to the crowd.

-_And that's why until all of the facts can come to light, both on Shinra _and_ AVALANCHE_, _I will be leaving administration of the relief effort in the capable hands of Everett Domino, until you can decide whether or not to place any further trust in myself. _

Capable and Domino should never have been uttered in the same sentence. _Ever._ Powerless, mousy little man, lameduck for the Slummers to vote for, like they actually had some shred of power. He was completely inefficient, yet because he was always bursting with charisma and demanding that the people of the slums 'deserved better' he'd won six straight terms. No doubt Reeve would still be running the show behind the scenes, but the fact he was _saying_ he was going to step back until he _earned_ their trust, it was certainly smart pandering to the refugees.

And Domino would be the perfect puppet mouthpiece for him. It was actually a pretty good idea. He'd been expecting Reeve to just go up to the crowd and start shouting _I was Cait Sith, we're the good guys, nyah-nyah_-fuckin'-_nyah_! Should have tuned in when he first got the call from Reeve. Oh well, not like they wouldn't be replaying the speech on every channel ad nauseum for the next month.

_For those of you just tuning in at this hour_ Channel Five's sodden, seen-better-days star reporter was on camera now, running a hand through her unkempt hair self-consciously. _Reeve Tuesti formerly of the Shinra corporation has given an official statement as to the status of known anti-Government rebels AVALANCHE, who were last heard from when two of their upper echelon operatives managed to escape their executions in Junon. Furthermore, Mr. Tuesti _himself_ has admitted to an association with the group, and claims to have information absolving them of blame in a number of crimes the former Shinra regime had accused them of, including the bombing incident that dropped the Sector Seven Plate-_

Well, at least he'd be _notorious_ when all the facts about that started coming out. Nudged Tifa again with his foot, causing her to crack an eye, unseeing, before shifting back into her dead sleep. Party pooper. Would have liked to get her opinion on this one. Play a little point-counterpoint with another bomber. Of course, her opinion was probably along the lines that he ought to have been drawn and quartered over the plate incident.

_-action to this revelation has been surprisingly calm. Though this reporter has to wonder just how much truth there is to Mr. Tuesti's information, and how much of it is him simply trying to pass the blame off to deceased parties. It looks like we will simply have to wait and see just _what_ exactly this information he has pertains to_. _Perhaps we can get an exclusive interview with him, once we cover former mayor Everett Domino's follow-up address. In light of this information, I doubt there is anyone more trustworthy suited to the task of presiding over the relief site in light of Mr. Tuesti's decision to step down from a leadership position. As we-_

Jeez, talk much? Looked like they didn't have much to worry about after all. Unless Domino managed to fuck something up. But he'd been too small time to get his hands dirty like any of the higher-ups. Probably would have _loved_ to, but he was like the equivalent of the kid nobody in class liked, but he got put in your group anyway. Figured that if Domino were the lynchpin in _anything_ then Meteor certainly _had_ been damn near the end of the world. Not bothering to listen to the reporter anymore, he shoved himself up out of the chair and made his way to the door, not sparing a glance back. Sauntered down the hall slowly, hooked a right into Barret's room bracing his shoulder against the door jamb to take a look at all of them.

"What do you guys think?" He asked, taking in the answer for himself when nobody answered him verbally.

Nobody was in tears, Barret wasn't making vague promises to turn himself in and spare everybody else any trouble, Elena seemed to have simmered down a little. All of them still glued to the screen like they were hypnotized, all except Marlene who scrubbed at her eyes fiercely, scowling at the screen before looking expectantly up at her father.

"Can we put something _else_ on?" She asked expectantly, _clearly_ bored with all of the politics, the information over her head and out of her concern. Barret tore his gaze away from the screen, shushing her slightly, like he'd been forced to do it every five minutes. Obviously he and the kid were on the same page in this regard. What was going to happen was going to happen. No use giving yourself an ulcer. Plenty of time to worry yourself sick when somebody was coming at you with a knife.

"I like how you think, kid." He nodded, seeing the way she glanced up shyly, little hands burrowing into her father's shirt, ducking against his chest like she was trying to _hide_. He'd been admittedly less than pleasant to her when they'd met the kid, after she'd been taken hostage. Blurted out a 'How the fuck did that happen?' when she was explained to be Barret's daughter. The word _adopted_ ground out soon after he popped the question. So he hadn't known the guy was _that_ benevolent, take in a friend's kid. Whatever. Smirked in a way he _figured_ wasn't menacing and jerked his head to the right. "If your dad says it's okay, you can probably go watch something in Tifa's room. She's out like a light."

Big brown eyes shot up to her father's face, searching for approval, and he nodded once, moving his arm so she could scoot off his lap. She hopped down to the floor and made her way to the door, looking up at him uncertainly, expectantly, hoping he would move and let her by.

"One condition, Short Round" He paused, index finger up, like dictating to her, she nodded to him, either cowed into submission because he was considered 'mean' (oh, if only others had such _polite_ ways of saying they hated his guts), or because she figured she could be watching cartoons that much faster if she agreed. "If anybody besides one of us comes into the room while she's still asleep, give us a yell, okay?"

"Yep." Already squeezing past his hip, anxious to watch something _fun_.

"I'm serious, kiddo!" He called after her, watching as she disappeared into Tifa's room without another look back.

"Passing your job off onto a kid now? Niiiiiiiiice." Elena grumbled sarcastically from her perch on the window sill. Her earlier malice had smoothed over a little, leaving her rolling her eyes at him, like she was used to it, expected something like that all along.

"I did you guys a favor." He protested, waving the comment away. "She was probably asking to change the channel every five minutes."

Cid just nodded, the set of his jaw speaking volumes. Reno could relate. Never liked it when his old man would watch News channels for hours on end; resorted to nagging him to please, please, _please_ put something else on. Usually got a smack for his troubles. Figured Barret wouldn't take a swing at her no matter what, but knew it was probably obnoxious to everyone _trying_ to pay attention.

"Seems like everybody was… okay with what Reeve said. Figured there was going to be a riot." Cid put in finally, nails rasping over the stubble on his face. Had given up shaving altogether with the finger splints on, wasn't going to lower himself to asking one of them to help him with it. Probably didn't trust any of them with a blade close to his throat. Manly man that looked fine with a coat of stubble anyhow, so it all worked out.

"People under the Plate were sympathetic to him. Any plans he came up with for improving the slums were voted down. Wanted to get Sector Seven rebuilt, but those fuckers wanted ta raise taxes an' just leave it wasted."

How the Hell did _they_ know that? Wasn't sure _who_ the mastermind in AVALANCHE had been, always brushed each one off individually as being too dumb, except for maybe Red. But maybe that was what had made them so dangerous. Had all kinds of resources and information they shouldn't have been able to get on their own. Majorly underestimated Tifa and Barret because they'd lived in the Slums; Barret had always sounded like a dumb thug, and Tifa… well, he'd always just figured somebody with a short, _short_ skirt like _that_ couldn't have been too smart. Maybe he'd just set his expectations too low from the get-go. Maybe he should've expected more, and then wouldn't have had to admit to any sort of respect for them in their prime.

"Think his word'll be enough to keep the heat off us?"

"Hope so." Barret shrugged "'Course, some of that stuff, we actually _did_."

"Yeah, well, now that Reeve's dangling that information on how corrupt Shinra was, people are going to look at what you did and figure it's justified." Elena put in, shrugging. While he had to agree on that one, Cid and Barret didn't seem to share her conviction. They were too focused on the collateral damage. So long as the ends justified the means, that was enough for the Turks.

"Hmph."

On the television, Domino had taken the podium and was going on and on, _passionately_ about how Reeve had been nothing but honest to them, always on _their_ side, and that they were all _good_ people, he _knew_ they would come to the right decision on the matter, and could only ask them to give him time to explain.

Guy was a Hell of an orator. Used pretty words to make people think he was actually worth a damn to them. Figured he was sort of on AVALANCHE's side. He, Rude and Tseng had found video footage of the rebels going through some stupid game of his when they'd broken into the Shinra building. No audio on the tape, but from the way Domino seemed to be ranting at them, they figured he'd been ranting about how _mad_ the President made him, how they destroyed part of the slums and weren't doing _anything_ for the people, blah blah blah. They'd considered blowing him in to the Preisdent, but when that fiasco was all said and done, Old Man Shinra was dead, Rufus had taken over, and had already kicked Domino to the curb because he wasn't 'necessary'. Rufus wasn't looking to pay lip-service to the crowds like his father had. He wanted them to be _afraid_. And getting rid of a friendly face like the Mayor had been a start. No use causing a fuss and costing the guy his pension. They weren't _monsters_.

It had been a ridiculously good move by Reeve, in retrospect. Good for crowd control, _liked_ to be at the relief site, going around talking to people with Hart in tow, seeing how everyone was _doing_. Pitching in to work himself. Probably because Reeve had been the only one that really _cared_ what mattered to those people, he brought in somebody that was able to relate to them. He doubted anybody else would have had the foresight for something like _that_. Rufus, in all of his wisdom of how to keep people under control, would have _never_ considered it, he was certain.

Before he could start musing on the failings of his dead boss, sharp, buzzing rattle of his phone startled him out of it, the others tearing their attention from the screen for a moment, curious to see who was calling, probably figuring it was Reeve.

"Yeah?" He answered unceremoniously, before the phone was even all the way up to his ear.

_Looks like we're going to be here a while. _Rude on the other end, with even less of a greeting. Not that either really cared about the lack of pleasantries between them. Had a _system_. Interacted like some kind of old-time comedy duo. Rude played the straight man to his obnoxious, chafing attitude. Were so close that people often figured there was something a little… _funny_ about the two of them. Remembered being somewhat disturbed when Yuffie had started a debate with her teammates once, claiming they had to be a 'couple of 'mos'. _Reeve's got to talk to Domino once he gets off stage, and looks like the weather's turning bad._

"So me and Elena have to hold down the fort for a while, you mean."

_It won't be a problem, will it?_

"I don't know about Elena, but I've been out of diapers long enough to do big-boy work." He scoffed, rolling his eyes. Sure, he was tired as Hell, but he figured they could stick it out for a few more hours, especially since their biggest remaining trouble-maker probably wasn't going to be up for a while. "Anything else?"

_Get something for Tifa to eat when she wakes up. She'll probably be feeling sick to her stomach._ Probably knew from experience, given how fucked up his knee had ended up in the war. Wanted him to do it because Reeve was paranoid about the kitchen staff trying to poison them or something.

_Ridiculous._

"Jesus, I'm sick of this baby-sitting shit, you know." He protested, despite the fact that he'd do it anyway, because it was _Rude_ asking.

_Hn._ No goodbye, just the click as he hung up, leaving Reno to scowl and jam the phone back in his pocket, leveling his gaze on the two AVALANCHE members in the room.

"Alright, they're going to be gone for a while, so no fucking around. You follow me?" He warned sternly, pointing to Elena as well. "That goes for me and you too, 'Lane. Just remember if shit goes down, we are _out_ of here."

He kind of wished something _would_ go wrong for them. Just so he'd have the opportunity to do something _interesting_ rather than just stand around uselessly.


	10. Chapter 10

Ten chapters has to be some kind of record for how long I've managed to stick to a serious story. Bust out the confetti or something. Aaaaaand, the plot finally moves a little more. And as for why the story seems kind of… shifty in it's tone or what have you, I think I've just got to chalk it up to such long lapses I leave in between writing chapters. I'll stop writing then come back to it later, and by then, my mood on it has changed a little.

And thanks to all of you that have reviewed/commented. I mean to reply to them, but then I always seem to get sidetracked and forget about it. But I _do_ pay attention to them.

* * *

Waking up was always the hardest part. Now that she'd managed to figure out a way around sleep, a _cheater's_ way, waking up and realizing that it _wasn't_ a dream, that her friends were still _dead_, and that horrible perpetuating dream about Vincent had actually happened, she was ready to immediately reach into the bedside drawer and scoop out a handful of blister packs, chase it all away yet again, and maybe, if she slept for long enough, it wouldn't bother her anymore.

Content now to live foggily, aware but not _invested_, injuries only flaring up every so often, just a reminder she should take some more to keep it in check. It was easier to think like that, not being preoccupied by what the others were trying to say to her, what Reeve had been planning to do. Able to plan her next move unimpeded.

She'd been playing up her injuries, somewhat, keeping to her bed, laying around, asking help for things she didn't _actually_ need. Kept her legs wrapped when they had already healed up enough. Stayed in undergarments mostly, shorts and cutoff tops to accentuate the bandages. Could have easily been wandering up and down the halls, easing herself into short walks like Janice had told her she _ought_ to have started doing. Did enough sneaking around once she'd memorized the shift schedules that she didn't really _need_ to do that.

If she was fine enough to sneak down the halls unnoticed and slip into the nurse's station to scavenge what she needed, then she was fine to _leave_. The staff wouldn't mind, and she was honestly surprised she hadn't been run in for stealing pills and other supplies. Probably just cowed by Reeve, turned a blind eye since he'd be footing the entirety of the bill anyway.

Groaned and cracked her eyes open finally, left hand coming up to press gingerly at the bridge of her nose. Throbbed dully, pain receptors still as sluggish as she was. She'd deserved it, getting in the emperor's face like that. Almost had to _laugh_ at the fact he thought she was Wutaian, though. Squinting at him, eyes slitted to try and keep everything in focus while she talked, foreign words slipping clumsily off her tongue because she was getting to that _point_, where the only thing left to do was go to sleep, so nobody would be too suspicious, seeing her staggering, somewhat incoherent and unaware, pills winning the battle to put her _down_.

Couldn't remember much after Godo had flip-thrown her into the wall and she'd landed on her left side. Pain had lanced through hard enough that she could _feel_ it through the haze. But once it had dulled back down, she'd been content to just lay there, drifting dozily. Could vaguely remember being led somewhere, more speaking in Wutaian, and… Tseng? Had to have been him if she were speaking the language after Godo had left. Janice's voice bobbing dimly over the crest of her thoughts, something about everything having to _stop_. Had wanted to go back to sorting her bag, shoving everything she could bear to do without into Cloud's bag. Instead simply nodded along when the background chatter paused, knew it was over when the lights had cut out, leaving her to finally curl up and sleep it off.

Pushed herself up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, still favoring her left side, even though it wasn't bothering her too much anymore. Had to be careful for the next six to eight weeks, she'd been told, given the nearly fatal nature of her wounds. Hadn't been pleased to have been _reminded _about it. Ran her palm over her face, shoving her hair back, before pinching at the sodden pieces of gauze up her nose, pulling gently, lips pursed as she tried to work them free from where they'd dried against the skin. Mouth was dry as dust, and her stomach hurt in a way that wasn't related to her side or the pressure wrap being too tight. The morning after six morphine tablets on an empty stomach was a feeling she was becoming quickly accustomed to.

Moved to stand up, go find out what exactly was going on _now_, when a lukewarm bowl of _something_ was nearly dumped over into her lap, some of it spilling over the lip and onto her thigh.

"What in-"

"Yummy yummy, nice and runny." Reno intoned flatly, stepping back, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, as if fearing she would try to hand it back to him. She looked down at it, lifting out a spoonful before turning it over, sending it piddling wetly back into the bowl. She cocked an eyebrow at him dubiously before turning her focus back to the food. Soupy, whitish liquid, beige lumps breaking the surface... her stomach rolled slightly as she tried to figure out just what it was.

"What are you doing in my room?" Not quite the 'what is it?' she had been aiming for.

"Giving you food." Tone matching hers almost exactly. Just as much as she wasn't happy to have him there, he wasn't happy to _be_ there.

At least they were on the same page.

"Oh. Well, I don't want it, but thanks anyway."

"Whatever. I was _ordered_ to give you something to eat, but I couldn't care either way."

"It looks disgusting." Understatement. _Under. Statement._ "And I can have solid food you know."

"Well, it's on good authority that you probably won't hurl this back up, painkiller Jane. Doesn't matter to-"

"I _know_ it doesn't matter to you, Reno. You don't have to keep making a show of it." Hint of a grin at the corner of her mouth, first one she'd cracked an effort at in a long, long while. Let him slide on the pills comment. "I know you're only here because you have to be." Half-heartedly, almost like a peace offering, she scraped the bottom of the bowl for a mostly solid bite, and pointedly put the spoon in her mouth, testing the concoction. Runny, cold oatmeal and milk. Not _quite_ the horror she had imagined.

"Pff. Don't even _have_ to be." Didn't make his _own_ excuses, and wouldn't hear of her making them _for_ him. Tifa spooned in another bite and leveled her gaze on him again, chewing cud-like.

"Then why are you?"

"Weighing my options. I want to get out of here anyway."

"Yeah."

"I mean, it sucks here. Really, truly _sucks_."

"Yeah."

"Huh. I thought you and Barret were like _this_." Twined fingers held up to her face, but she just pushed his hand away, waving if off.

"He'll be fine as long as he's got Marlene." She shrugged dismissively. "I just can't stay here. I'll lose my mind." As if she weren't _already_. "I can't stay with _them_."

She forced another bite into her mouth, pointedly.

"But-"

"What happened after Yuffie was taken out?" She asked, mumbling around her food, dribble of milk wiped away hastily as it tried to escape down her chin.

"Reeve fessed up about his connection to you. Stepped down for the time being."

"He _what_?" Nearly choked, had to wipe at her mouth again hastily.

"He's still going to be keeping things running, but he's leaving Domino 'in charge' for now."

"_Mayor_ Domino?" Dubious, flat. She couldn't believe it, either.

"'S a fuckin' joke, right? Still all over the television, if-"

"I'd really rather not."

"I liked you better when you used to let people finish what they were saying." Frustration peeling the edges of his words; caustic.

"Is Reeve back yet?" Twisting to look at the clock above the door, avoiding the barb. _So_ hard to get a rise out of her. Four thirty four in the afternoon. Had she _really_ slept that long?

"Nah, he was held up at the site, and it's been raining most of the afternoon. Should be back soon, weather's starting to let up. Wants to have a team meeting after that, see what we're going to do now. Why, got a fire under your ass or something?"

"Or something." she echoed forcing down a few more bites under his scrutiny. He seemed to realize she was forcing it down, and her stomach seemed apt to force it back _up_ at any given moment. She set the bowl onto her bedside table, scooping her comb up, dragging it through her sleep-mussed hair. "You got a rubber band?" Grimaced at how _filthy_ the strands felt. Spent most of her mornings huddled over the little sink in the attached bathroom, giving herself impromptu sponge baths, knew the others did the same. Couldn't really stick her head under the faucet to attempt at washing her hair.

Reno felt through his pockets quickly, finally producing one from the breast pocket of his blazer, a few strands of hair still snarled around the elastic. He tossed it down on the sheets next to her before retreating to the chair that had been pulled up close to the foot of her bed. She shot him a sidelong glance as she continued to work the comb through her hair.

"Why are you hanging out in here?" She asked finally, exchanging the comb for the elastic, carefully picking the loose strands of hair from it. Smoothed her hair back, holding it in place loosely with her right hand, before twisting her hair through the band. Tug-tightening it up, she ruffled her bangs until they fell across the stitches. "You get in trouble again?"

"Everybody else went to sleep." He replied grudgingly, flicking his ponytail back over his shoulder dismissively. "And yeah, they're pissed at me because of me asking Rude and Tseng to pick me up something just _happened_ to coincide with all of Wutai deciding to come in barnstorming. Ain't my fault that guy's a complete douche."

"Why don't you just leave?" Hoped her voice stayed as neutral as she was trying to keep it. Wanted to gauge his reaction. See if anything he said could help. "It's obvious you hate us. Why bother staying around if that's the case?"

"I hate _this_, kiddo." He corrected, gesturing vaguely toward the ceiling. "Everybody's getting all wound up over stuff that we _should_ be able to weather no problem. Uppity little shits here making us do their job _for_ them. It's boring. If Rude and them want to stick around and do bodyguard work, _fine_, but I want to get out here and go back to the one thing I'm good at."

Maladjusted little _child_.

"What, you don't want to go back to being a normal person in a normal world?" She tried, straining to keep her tone free of any bitterness, though even she could tell how mocking it came out. She'd never actually had a conversation with him. A _real_ conversation. Was sure she could go through the rest of her life never wanting for the opportunity. But at the same time, here he was now, both of them being civil, stuck in a situation they weren't happy with. Misery breeding company. Bewildered eyes on her, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"You don't honestly think _normal_ people end up in the Turks, do you?"

"You have your moments of normalcy."

"Dumbass." He muttered under his breath, eyes rolling. "This might hurt your fragile little sensibilities, but I actually _liked_ being a Turk. There's no place for us now. _Any_ of us. I'm not even going to bother trying."

"I understand just _fine_." She muttered, leaning back on the bed, feet coming up, left arm folding behind her head. "They _spit_ on us in Junon. They were happy to see us going into the gas chamber. They're not going to care that we saved the world, or even if we _weren't_ responsible for Sector Seven. We still goaded you into doing it." Snort from his side, like he'd heard it all before; like he'd been _expecting_ her to say it.

"Christ, you guys cornered the market on the martyr complex, didn't you? Noble suffering isn't fucking _contagious_, is it?"

"I'm being honest." She protested, shaking her head. "I don't _want_ to be caught up in all this suffering and regret and _misery_. I don't want to be like _you_, all pissed off at the whole _world_."

"Who says I am?"

"Who says you aren't?" She rolled her head to the side to give him a stern look, challenging him to contradict her. After a long minute of silence, she turned her gaze back up to the ceiling, sighing. Picked idly at the hem of her shirt with blistered fingers; considering. "I wouldn't have minded if I'd died in the crash."

The comment was just so matter-of-fact, so calm and casual, like she was mentioning that she had to make a phone call or go to the store. It wasn't just emotions or the weariness of everything that had happened to them talking. It was her honest truth.

"You are fucking _insane_, Lockhart." Reno breathed, somewhat amused. This stone-cold attitude wasn't something that he'd seen much of from her. She _had_ to have been a little unhinged to begin with. Just managed to hide it well with the big smiles and a sympathetic ear.

Whatever she was going to say to him died prematurely on the blade of her tongue as the door eased open. Lolled her head to the left, slowly, to see who was intruding now. Hoped it was somebody more _appealing_ than Reno. Honestly surprised she was able to tolerate him for _this_ long, in a civilized manner, no less. Anger torn in so many conflicting directions that she couldn't muster up much more than mild irritation at his continued presence. And the room _smelled_. She wasn't stupid. Even with the blood-hint still tainting every breath, she could tell somebody had been smoking in there. At least Reno probably wouldn't think anything of the cut she'd made in the screen.

"Yes?"

Man in a button-down and slacks standing there, balding with high, gaunt cheek bones. There were two, squat white cylinders hugged in the crook of his right arm, and although he didn't _look_ like a threat, she wasn't sure who had a bone to pick. His gaze lingered on her a few beats too long for her liking, and she drummed her fingers against her stomach, clearing her throat expectantly. He finally met her gaze, the look in her eye seeming to jar him back to his task at hand. Shifting nervously, he fussed with the knot of his tie, clearing his throat as he approached her bedside, slipping into a business like veneer.

"Ah, Miss Lockhart, I presume?" He juggled the two jars to his left arm, holding out his right hand, long, bony fingers stretching toward her. She simply brought her right hand up, flashing the wrapped, raw palm to him, before letting it drop back down to her stomach in rejection. She didn't say anything, just watched him expectantly, waiting for him to go on. Eventually, he pulled his hand back and let it drop uncertainly. "Forgive me if I've caught you at a bad time. I'm Janos Skorenzy of ­­­Skorenzy Funeral home."

It explained the accent. Couldn't place it though. Up north, maybe?

"Dunno if she's looking to make arrangements just yet, old timer." Reno piped up from behind her, and she rolled her head toward him slightly, glaring, _daring_ him to continue making a mockery of the situation.

"Pardon me." She nodded back to the funeral director, apologizing as if it had been her own improper outburst.

"Ah, yes, well, arrangements for the cremation of a Mr. Strife and a Mr. Valentine were taken care of through us, and since you were listed as the next of kin for both gentlemen, I believed it best to present you with their remains."

Silently plucked the jars one at a time from where they were held against his side and handed them to her. No idea who had specified the containers, but they were simple, white screw-top affairs, each one adorned with a small label with the last name and first initial of the two men. He passed them to her, finally sitting up as she accepted them.

Stomach curled again as she inspected the containers, unsure of what to make of them. Stared at the labels blankly, unable to fathom it. Vincent and Cloud, now just reduced to… _this_. Screw-top jar and discarded traveling packs overturned in the corner. Swallowed hard and shook it off long enough to look up at Mr. Skorenzy, not sure what to expect. Might have been better if he didn't look so damn _sympathetic_. Would have preferred the haughty 'you deserve this' look that most of the people in the hospital fixed them with. She moved her jaw silently, trying and failing to come up with anything to say. Bony, cool hand on her shoulder, patting lightly, reassuringly that it was _okay_.

To feel like _this_.

"How much do I owe for the… th…" Swallowed the vowel down convulsively, waving the back of her hand toward the two jars. She was already shifting, moving to grab for her pack, the one she'd been painstakingly consolidating all of the necessities into. Needed every gil in that bag if she was going to get _anywhere_, but she had to pay for this.

Hand on her shoulder pushed back until she stilled, squeezing softly. Doting gesture; _Grandfatherly_. He simply shook his head before she could ask him anything else.

"It's all been taken care of by Mr. Tuesti. And I just want to extend my _deepest_ condolences for your loss."

"I'm certain." She replied thickly, not wanting to be _rude_, but at the same time finding it hard to find any consolation in the words, kindly-spoken as they were. She knuckled at her left eye quickly, still hesitant to put any pressure near the other one, gaze slipping to Reno. Disgusted that he was just sitting there, casually eyeing the scene like some damn _voyeur_.

Mr. Skorenzy finally stepped back, letting his hand fall to his side, and although she had refused his handshake earlier, Tifa awkwardly put her left hand out, letting it hover there, wondering if he would even take it. Surprisingly, he actually did return the gesture, grasping her fingers with his right hand, shaking normally.

"I _am_." He protested, corner of his mouth dipping in a slight frown. "Not all of us believe everything we hear on the news. And I'm certainly sorry to see you in such dire straits." Gaze falling to Reno; skeptical.

"She can leave anytime she wants." Reno scoffed defensively, rolling his eyes at the comment.

"I see." He nodded dubiously, eyes on Reno the whole time, even as he reached into his shirt pocket and produced a business card, setting it down atop the jars. "My card. If you happen to need anything, don't hesitate to contact me."

"Thank you. For coming by with these."

"Not a problem, I assure you." Turned on his heels, back out the door. "Best of luck."

Silent once he was out of the room. But it didn't last. With Reno, it never did.

"Jeez. This is just-" Reached out toward the containers, only to get his hand swatted away. "I mean they're just… _Jars_."

She just sighed, staring unfocused at the lettering on the front of the business card. Not a conversation she wanted to have. Not with Reno.

"Was that Skorenzy guy one of your contacts or something?"

"Could have been. Lot of our contacts were, like, friend of a friend. What came through the system got passed to us from the contacts we were familiar with. Met _some_ of them, but who knows how many people we actually had."

"Never hurts to have contacts."

"Guess not."

She looked like she was going to start crying. Reno never liked seeing girls start tearing up. Completely _killed_ his mood. Obnoxious enough when they were all teary-eyed and snot-nosed begging him not to kill them. But this was just _awful_. He had half a mind to drag Cid or Barret in here and get them to deal with her. She'd been avoiding them like the plague anyway.

Breathed an internal sight of relief when she managed to quash it back down.

"Could you give me a few minutes alone? I don't…"

"Yeah, sure. You need anything? Water? Newspaper? Feedbag full of pills?"

"I thought you were sick of playing nanny with us." Let the jab slide. She wasn't going to have to deal with him much longer.

"Yeah, and I also need something to _do_."

"Fair enough. You know if they got Plum here?"

"You actually drink that shit?"

"It's the only pop we ever _had_ back home."

"Fine, fine. Whatever. Don't need to justify your disgusting habits to _me_."

"Good to know."

He was at least nice enough to shut the door behind him when he walked out. Finally. Thought he was just going to dawdle around in her room until Reeve and the others came back.

Pushed herself up into a sitting position and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Peeled her shirt up and over her head one-handed, tossing it away carelessly. Stooped to dig out a clean one from under the packs, still neatly folded by Elena. Slipped it on, sleeves covering half of the mummy-like wrapping over her right arm. Struggled on a pair of pants, pulling the belt to its last notch. Fabric bunched beneath the cinch. They'd been Vincent's; still smelled heavily of cleaning oil and gunpowder from being stored with his weapons.

Legs were too long, heavy twill bunching over her boots. Vincent had been tall. Couldn't remember how tall _exactly_, but he'd pretty much dwarfed everybody but Barret. Half-heartedly rolled the cuffs a few times, but she still looked like a little girl playing dress-up. Probably should have cut the excess off beforehand, but there wasn't time to fret about it now. Knotted her boot laces and shrugged on the sweatshirt laid out on her bedside table. Fumbled at the zipper a few times before getting it in the track.

Checked the clock quickly. Probably only had a few more minutes until Reno came back, with or without her drink. She grabbed her pack and put Cloud and Vincent's urns inside, then swung it over her shoulder. Shouldered Vincent's gun belt too. They'd taken his Death Penalty out of her room, probably Reeve fretting about the possibility of her choosing to do something 'drastic' in her current frame of mind. But there'd been a handgun in his bag, looked like the same kind the Turks had.

Pocketed the few pill packs still in her bedside drawer. The rest of what she needed was already packed away. Reached into Vincent's pack, pulling out the makeshift rope she'd put together. She'd stolen some sheets from the laundry bag when the nurses were changing bed linens the other day. Had been knotting them together when all the commotion with Godo had started. Good thing she'd thought to stash them before she wandered out of the room to see what was happening. Janice would have noticed, probably taken them away.

Knelt down and knotted one end to the leg of the bed, unraveling the bundle as she backed her way to the window. Slid the pane up and crimped the slashed screen back out of the way before tossing the sheets through, shaking at the line until it unfurled all the way.

Leaned out, dropping the gun belt and then her pack into the shrubs below. If she'd been in top form, she could have jumped it. As it was, she didn't want to try it and end up having someone find her floundering in the shrubs with her stitches popped open. Embarrassment, she could live with, but not when it meant she'd just get taken back inside and get a tighter watch put on her. She could understand Reeve trying to mother-hen them, wanting to make sure they were kept safe. But she needed to distance herself from it. Try to get her head back in order.

Couldn't do it in this atmosphere. She'd probably crack up and fall to pieces first.

She twined her forearm along the sheets and swung her right leg out over the sill, straddling the window. Braced her right hand against the wet glass and hunched down, ducking her head under.

Was moving to swing her other leg over the sill, when the door was unceremoniously shoved open, Reno making his way back in, already talking at her.

"-and managed to find you a can of that sh."

Stopped dead, their eyes meeting for a long uncomfortable moment. Wasn't exactly sure what to do. Hadn't been expecting him to come back so soon, of course.

"That was, uh." Swallowed convulsively, throat dry. Considered just jumping for it, regardless "That was fast."

"Yeah. Well, there was a can sitting at the nurse's station, so I just took it." Crossed the room and set it down on the sill next to her, patting her briefly on the shoulder. Plucked at the sheets inquisitively, before looking back at her, frowning. "You really _do_ hate me, don't you?"

"What?" Caught off guard. What sort of question was _that_?

"I go do something for you, because I figure you're going to start crying or shit, instead, you're trying to weasel out of here under _my_ watch."

"You said it yourself. I can leave anytime I want."

"_Not_ what I meant when I said that." He sighed, rolling his eyes. "I get you want to go off and do whatever, but can it _wait_ until the others come back so it can be somebody _else's_ fault?"

"If I _wait_, then everybody will be hovering around, asking 'Are you _okay_, Tifa?' 'Is something the _matter_, Tifa?' 'We need to talk about what we're going to _do_.' Marx is up my butt about _everything_ already, everybody else is going to be locking down harder on me after what happened between me and the Emperor, and I just don't want to be _here_ any more."

"Marx?"

"Janice." Shook her head expectantly at his blank look. "Talbot. Only nurse that doesn't hate our guts?"

"Oh! Oh, the she-beast. Yeah. Well, maybe this wouldn't be a problem if you weren't acting like some kind of psychopath."

"I am _not_ acting like a psychopath!" She snarled, gripping the lapel of his blazer.

"Yeah, because _this_ is healthy."

"Go to _Hell_." She spat back at him, letting go with a none-too-gentle shove and swinging her left leg out over the sill. Reno leaned out after her, sneering.

"What's keeping me from cutting your rope, huh?"

"Nothing." She shrugged off-handedly, bracing her feet against the rain-slick stones, easing herself down. "Not like the fall's going to kill me."

"Not like the fall's gonna…" He sniped back in a mocking falsetto, before drawing back inside. She braced herself, waiting for the slack to go. It didn't happen.

Let go of her rope above the first floor window and dropped to the ground, a little unsteady. She was bending to pick up her pack and belt when something crashed into the bushes by her head, sending her jumping back, taking up a defensive stance.

"Incoming." Belated warning from up above, and she looked up, seeing Reno peering back over the sill at her as he pulled her makeshift rope back up into the room, before swinging one leg out, then the other, perching on the outside of the sill himself.

Tifa stepped back as he jumped out, managing the stick better than she had. He stooped to pick up what he had nearly hit her with, hefting it up onto his shoulder before turning to her.

"Alright, lead the way." He nodded, stepping back, sweeping his arm out to the side.

"What?"

He repeated the gesture expectantly, motioning toward the dimmed, mostly empty street.

"Lead the way."

"No." She bit back sternly, shaking her head. "_No_, there is no way in _Hell_ you're coming with me."

"Well, sorry sister, but you're being overruled. _Fragile_ as you are right now, I just don't think it would be safe for you to go running off on your own."

"I swear, I'll take you _down_ if you don't turn around _right_ now and-" He reached out flicking his middle finger against the bridge of her nose, cutting her off.

"Please. Maybe on your best day, but right now I'm sure all the bookies would be generous giving you hundred to one odds." Arm around her shoulders, which she visibly hunkered down against, scowling. "Besides, might actually get me back on the level, they think I just took off to look after your crazy ass."

Tifa let out a long, measured breath, folding her arms across her chest, eyeing him caustically. Steeled herself against the damp chill seeping into her clothes. He'd probably get the wrong idea, her shoulders starting to tremble under his carelessly slung arm.

"I'm _not_ crazy." Twisted out from beneath his corralling touch, glancing toward the clock tower that rose up from the center of the town. She wasn't exactly familiar with this end of the town. When they'd come here, it had been a quick pass through the town. Never really became familiar with the specific areas, outside of the shops. And the clock tower was really the only landmark a place as dozy as Kalm had.

Reno picked up on her uncertainty, hand coming up against the small of her back, palm steering her toward the East end of the hospital.

"This way toward the outskirts. I'm _assuming_ we're going to be making for the chocobo farm?"

She jerked away from his touch, gait stiff and uncomfortable.

"_We're_ not going anywhere. I don't want you around, and I don't _need_ you around."

"Regardless, there's only one way to go on foot to get to Junon, and what do you know? We both happen to be taking it. And, coincidentally, we're both leaving here at the same time. So, come on, I don't like you much either, but hows about we do the old 'I scratch your back, you scratch mine' for the time being?" Nails rasping at the fabric between her shoulders, and she shook him off with an aggravated twitch.

"Whatever." Started walking, inwardly sulking. Didn't like the idea of having him around. Didn't want to have to trust _him_ at her back. But it didn't seem like he was going to back down from this idea. And despite what she'd said, it probably was better to have somebody else around for the time being, even if it _was_ Reno.

Sharp _snap_ of heavy fabric as he flipped the collar of his overcoat up against the wind, and he fell in step after her. She slowed down enough to keep him in her peripheral. Despite the fact he didn't _seem_ to have any motives other than the ones she shared, she didn't like the idea of him being behind her, out of her sight.

"How you going to explain this one to Reeve?" She asked after a few minutes of silence, pulling her hood up, brushing at an errant droplet winding its way down her brow.

"Probably just let my phone go to voicemail until I come up with something plausible sounding. And give us enough time to make some ground so they can't run us down in the chopper in fifteen minutes."

"We've got a few birds still at the ranch. Give us a straight shot to Junon without having to go through the mines."

"Good. Great." Nodded to himself, thinking it over. "You going to be able to make the walk?"

"I can hack it." She shrugged indifferently. Legs hadn't gotten banged up too badly. She'd been in rough shape before, always managed through it. If she'd been in Yuffie's shape…

Reno looked like he was about to say something else, but bit it back, shaking his head.

Already she was feeling a little better, being out of that room. Wasn't sure _exactly_ what she was going to do. But she had a few ideas.

* * *

I must have re-written the part with Reno catching Tifa at her escape about ten times. I was going to have Reno leave on his own later, but this finally, finally worked itself out to him hitting the road later. Not going to end up as some sort of Tifa/Reno, just so you know. They might have a few _moments_, but there's no plans to pair them up.


	11. Chapter 11

I went back through a few earlier chapters to check plot points, and oh _man_, in hindsight, some of the chapters seem too rambling and verbose. Sorry everyone. I'm trying to streamline it a little more, but if I go back to writing like _that_, waggle a finger at me, won't you? In light of it all, behold! A _short_ (by my annoying style, anyway) chapter.

Again, thanks to the reviewers (and everybody that still comes back to read this, regardless). Oh, and Aeris Gast, thanks for the sharp eye from the last chapter. I didn't mean to have the guy be trying to unload all his unused business cards on poor Tifa. And since the characters are all splitting up and getting some distance from the incident, hopefully they won't be all sounding so cookie-cutter mopey.

* * *

She was having _that_ dream again. Strung upside down across the face of some Wutaian god she'd never heard of, sickly sweet dregs of all the Mai Tais she'd had rising steadily in the back of her throat. And that fat, disgusting, _piggish_ man dancing around gleefully, hips thrusting, as he crowed about which one of them he'd pick for a bride.

Was always so, _so_ happy when the dream ended with her being dropped to her death.

Despite the fact she was running on less than empty, given that the… excitement of the last few days had resulted in her having to skip a few of the shifts where it was supposed to be her chance to get some sleep, she didn't particularly mind being jostled awake at that particular moment.

"'S goin' on?" She asked blearily, back of her wrist swiping across her eyes, still sticky with sleep, smearing the liner she _still_ hadn't scrubbed off her left eye. Sacked out sitting upright, Barret's kid nestled in against her ribs, head against the blazer bunched across her thighs.

Rude standing over her, something in the set of his jaw putting her immediately on the defensive. If he was going to chew her out about sleeping, when she hadn't had the opportunity in nearly two days, she didn't want to hear it. Good to see they'd made it back okay from the site. _Tried_ to stay awake until they got back, but her eyelids had been like lead weights. Losing battle to keep them open.

"Where's Reno?"

"Last I know he was bumming around in Lockhart's room." Muffled a yawn into the cuff of her blouse "This about the Wutai thing?"

"Did he say he was _going_ anywhere?"

"No." Didn't think she liked where these questions were going.

Slow measured exhale through his nose, and he abruptly turned on his heels, making his way back toward the hallway.

"What's going on _now_?"

He paused at the door, glancing back over his shoulder. Oh, she _definitely_ wasn't going to like _this_.

"Reno's gone. Lockhart too."

"What?!" Shifting, moving to extract herself from the chair without waking Marlene. Rude waved her off, brusquely, shaking his head.

"Their things are gone, and Lockhart's window is open. The bushes under her window are all tramped on. Looks like they just… left." Pulled his shades off, pinching at the bridge of his nose in agitation. "Tseng's been calling him, but Reno keeps letting it go to voicemail."

"You don't think they-"

"Nah. Reno picked up on the fifth call, told Tseng to calm down and immediately hung up again. So we don't really know what to go on, until he actually decides to talk to us."

Tilted her head back too far, letting it thump dully against the headrest of the chair. Did it again for good measure.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me."

"He was complaining a lot, but it's not like him to just desert."

"He probably has some retarded 'reason' he'll eventually grace us with." Hand to her face, aping Rude's gesture. "If it's obvious they took off on their own, are we going to do anything about it?"

"It's not up to me."

"Highwind and Wallace know?"

"Not yet."

"I don't want to be the one to break the news." Remembered when Cid had been all riled up, taking swings at Reno over just about _anything_. If he was out there with Tifa, she'd give it two days before he ended up with his face pounded into an unrecognizable hash. The girl had patience. _Had_ to have it in spades what with putting up with Cloud's crazy ass for so long. But he could wear down anybody.

"We'll draw straws or… something."

"Think this means we'll be getting out of here soon?"

"One can hope."

And then he was gone, stalking off down the hall, probably to deal with their latest surprise. Elena sighed heavily, glancing over toward the television. Still on. Marlene had fallen asleep on her during the movie, and the remote wasn't within her reach to shut it off, so she'd just tuned it out.

Couple of dogs making lovey-dovey eyes at each other over a plate of pasta, an outrageously overdone Upper Midgar stereotype of a chef patting them on the heads before bustling off to leave them alone for their… date.

Dogs.

On a date. Jesus, how could she have ever _liked_ this movie as a kid? And if it was only at _this_ point, she hadn't even been asleep for an hour.

"Ah, fuck me." She sighed in exhaustion, glancing down quickly, as if afraid Marlene had heard her swear. Patted her dismissively on the head before propping her cheek against her hand, closing her eyes. "What I wouldn't give, kid…"

* * *

"You have to eat something." Glowering down at her from her bedside, arms folded across his broad chest. As if he could intimidate her into it.

"I'm not hungry." Came out petulant and childish, clumsily rolling over on her side, turning away from him. Hollow grating as her casts rubbed together. Her legs itched beneath the plaster, and she just wanted to be left alone. Refused to talk to any of the Palace staff after being brought back home. Kept to herself. Had been only a few hours since they arrived back, but she'd refused all attempts to feed her. The sight of a third plate of food, coming back completely untouched, had apparently been enough for her father.

"Yuffie-"

"Get out of my room." Long beat as she waited expectantly for him to obey. When he didn't move, she pounded her fist on the bedside table, sending the tea set one of the servants had left there rattling. "_Now_!"

"Yuffie." Repeated sternly, unswayed by her show of temper. "This won't help your condition. I understand you're upset-"

Sharp, shrill bark of laughter, like that was the most _offensive_ thing she'd ever heard. Sat up, finally looking him in the eye, lip curling back.

"_Upset_? You put the _only_ people I care about into jeopardy. You didn't care that I was with them before, because they had good materia. My stash is in my bag, so get _out_."

He sighed, rumble from deep within his chest, and sat on the edge of her bed, hand hovering over her shoulder, like he knew she would jerk away the second he touched her.

"Listen to me. Those people, despite what you think, they are not _good_. What I heard of them on the news, the trouble they brought to our country… They are dangerous. I could empathize with their desire to rid the world of the Shinra, but two of them were to be executed. For bringing that Meteor upon us. Such dark power to wield. And _you_ were on television, helping them to escape."

She thought her disguise had been foolproof. Who would have recognized her under the hat and shades? Of course, Shinra didn't know her like her old man did.

"That's a lie!"

"They replayed it on a recent news broadcast about those… about AVALANCHE. Don't think me so old and daft I would fail to recognize you."

She sat up, pushing his hand aside, and leaned forward, sneering.

"You're taking _Shinra's_ side, huh? They didn't summon _anything_. It was Sephir…" Swallowed back, even the idea of his name a bad taste on her tongue "This guy, Shinra experiment that got out of hand, okay? He summoned the Meteor. We were trying to stop _him_. Rufus had to throw the blame on somebody, and since Tifa and Barret were sticking in his craw, he tried to take it out on _them_. I was helping my _friends_."

"I _know_ you aren't as worldly as you'd like to think. But to buy into such egregious lies? Call them your _friends_?"

"I was _there_ for everything! I _know_ what happened! I know what happened and you _don't_ so just shut _up_!" Hands fisting in the sheets, thinking of every pseudo-zen thing Nanaki had ever said to hold herself back from taking a swing at him. "We kept coming up on top, and that was the only way they figured they could get us to stop being a nuisance. You were talking with Reeve about helping with the relief effort. He was one of us too. What the Hell changed? You've got power again, isn't that what you wanted?"

"It wasn't so long ago that was what you wanted as well." He replied distantly, bony, knotted fingers combing absently through his beard. "We were contacted here, and the things they said your _friends_ were involved in… they said they would have you killed." Didn't like his stress on the word 'friends'. While she was trying emphasize that that's what they were, he ground it out like it was sacrilegious to use the term.

She blinked expectantly, leaning in closer to him.

"And you just raced over, bringing _reporters_ with you to try and act like I had nothing to do with them? You figured it would be best to throw _them_ under the wheels?"

He paused, looking down at her, stony faced, but his eyes were troubled.

"I did no such thing. The Press was already there when we arrived. And their questions, it appeared they were told the same thing as I."

"What?" Faltering, rage seeping away to confusion. "You didn't contact the reporters?" But it had to have been her father, all of them blustering in after his entourage, snapping pictures, pressing with demanding questions.

"No. They seemed to be waiting. For us. They followed us in. I only wanted to take you away from there. Wash our hands of such madness."

"Wait." Hand up to stall him, other rubbing at her brow, along the scar from where a piece of debris had ripped the skin when Mideel had started collapsing into the Lifestream. "_Who_ contacted you?" Stomach dropping. If she had anything in it, she probably would have been sick.

"I do not know. Aino spoke with them, brought the information to me."

No. Oh no.

Bolt of anger socked her directly in the gut, boiling up boiling over. No other outlet, she snapped her arm out, swiping at the tea set, flinging it through the air, the fine china pieces shattering; shards tinkling like wind chimes as they hit the carpet. Godo stared after them, face unreadable. Looked as if he wanted to reprimand her. They were antique, something from her Great-Grandfather's coronation.

Bunched her fingers in the fabric of the sheets. Had to. If she didn't, she'd probably try to hit him. Leveled her gaze on him, swallowing thickly.

"And you didn't stop to think it was some kinda set-up? If it… if that's _true_, you walked right into it. And if anything happens to them, it's going to be on _your_ head."

Her father looked chagrined, whether at the thought of having been duped, or the bold accusation leveled against him she couldn't be sure. Knowing him, it was probably the former. He abruptly stood, turning away from her, heading toward the door. But he turned back, apparently needing to have the last word against her.

"I will have Aino look into who contacted us. I may have been hasty in my judgment, however… I only wanted to protect you. You must understand that." Paused, then, almost as an afterthought, like some belated, half-hearted effort to make peace with her "And I will continue to aid in Mr. Tuesti's reconstruction effort."

"And what about my friends? Are you going to help them too?"

But Godo simply walked out of her chambers, leaving her alone in the dimly lit room. She wanted to go after him. Wanted to _demand_ he answer her question. Maybe that's why he'd left so quickly; a retreat rather than a surrender. Figured she couldn't follow him. Forget that, she'd _crawl_ after him if she had to. Let him drag her along like a ball and chain, clinging to the hem of his robes. Crawl all the way back to Kalm if she had to.

"As soon as these goddamn casts are off, I'm leaving, and I'm _never_ coming back!" She shrieked impotently after him, before flopping back on the mattress, cheeks puffing as she exhaled.

Didn't like what she'd heard, what turn the conversation had taken. Something wasn't _right_. Somebody contacting him, contacting the media just… _stank_. He probably didn't think anything of it, but…

She was startled out of her thoughts when one of the servants entered, bowing silently to her before kneeling on the carpet, picking up the fragments of the lacquer ware, settling them into the tray she had flung across the room. Having scooped up the pieces and the snowy dune of sugar dashed across the rug, she spent longer than necessary mopping up the spilled tea, acutely aware of Yuffie's burning gaze on her back. When she finally finished, she set her rag on top of the shards and made her way over to her bedside, setting the tray down and perching in the space Godo had recently vacated.

"Princess, may I bring you anything?"

Up close, she could see it was Satso. She'd worked in the palace for longer than Yuffie had been alive. Had been her wet-nurse, which, she had always thought was kind of gross to consider, but still. Doted on her, in a way that could have been considered almost motherly, if it weren't for the master-servant skew of their relationship, or the fact it was her _job_ to watch over her.

"No thanks." Hand on her forehead, brushing at her bangs affectionately.

"He wants to see that you're taken care of. Certainly you can forgive him for that." She tried after a moment, hesitantly, since she knew it wasn't her place to speak such things. Frowned lightly, fingers stilling.

"He's never gonna admit he's wrong."

"Perhaps not." Back of her hand pressed to Yuffie's forehead, her cheeks. "You feel warm. You'll make yourself sick, worrying over this." Inelegant snort from the Princess, distasteful. What did they _expect_?

"You know where my dad put my things? I want something out of my bag."

"It is in his chambers."

Great. Probably couldn't pull one over on him on her _best_ days. No way she'd be able to get around like _this_.

"Do you think you could try to get my PHS for me?" It was probably a risky thing to ask. Godo didn't want her to contact them. If she did get her PHS back, and he found out, well…

"That is…?" She trailed off questioningly, the term foreign to her.

"My phone." Didn't even know why they had called it that, what the abbreviation was for. "It's in the left-side pocket." Even though she was just a servant, she still had some training. Had to be able to protect herself, protect the Princess if anything happened while she was in her care. Would probably be able to snag the phone no problem.

Satso just nodded once, agreeably, smoothing out the front of her uniform as she stood. Couldn't think of even one time the woman had said no to her.

"Certainly. I will see to it."

"Look, if you can't do it, that's okay. Don't get in any trouble just 'cause of me."

Another affectionate pat to her forehead, and, had it been anyone else, she would have complained about being treated like some kind of dog.

"I need to change his linens and bring him his laundry tomorrow. I will search for it then." Then, almost as an afterthought, leveling a reprimanding finger at her "However, _only_ if you eat something. If I find out you still haven't eaten anything by tomorrow, then the arrangement is off."

"Okay, fine _whatever_." Didn't miss the triumphant air of the smile Satso favored her with as she picked up the tray and bustled out of the room. Didn't doubt that she'd be calling them in Kalm as soon as the morning rounds were finished. Had to pass on what she'd heard to Reeve, even if it was nothing. Had to apologize for all the trouble.

Had to figure out what she was going to eat.


End file.
